


In Slave's Glory

by JunkArtist



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Canon Compliant, Child Soldiers, Coming of Age, Dystopia, Gen, Mecha, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2020-12-17 03:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21047327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JunkArtist/pseuds/JunkArtist
Summary: A prequel/interquel story for Guilty Gear that focuses on Potemkin and his childhood, life as a slave-soldier, and his relationship with Gabriel.Cover artbyNinja Raptor Designs.





	1. 4595605381

**Author's Note:**

> **FOREWORD**  
This story is something that's been stewing in my brain for years in one form or another. I think it ultimately stems from an ancient fanfic (still up on FFN by the way) that novelizes Guilty Gear: The Missing Link. The chapter expanding upon Potemkin's backstory is really strong, but I remember there was one element of it that stuck out to me like a sore thumb, despite the story's attempt to adhere to canon wherever it could: Potemkin has a wife and child in it. Now, I dunno if you've ever read the essay "Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex" before (if you're going to look it up right now, it's NSFW, so don't say I didn't warn you), but it discusses the problems with the physical end of having children if you have super strength, and while it ironically doesn't apply to the Man of Steel himself, it _should_ apply to Potemkin, who can't control his strength.
> 
> And that thought was basically the genesis of this whole story. Super strength seems like an awesome power on paper, but only if you can control it. Potemkin doesn't have that luxury, to the point of needing reinforced pencils, and adding on to that, there's the lore tidbit that his mutation is still making him stronger with or without his input. Of course, that also logically means he wouldn't have been as strong when he was younger, and that's a little unsettling to think about, because it implies he had to grow into not being able to hold a pencil without breaking it.
> 
> After some time spent writing, this story grew from a simple exploration of a character's youth and background to a chronicling of his journey to manhood. I didn't originally anticipate it would be this long, but I kept adding more and more under the pretense that I needed more in-universe time to flesh out the character development and make all of the dots connect from my mental impression of Potemkin's depressing youth to what we actually see in the games.
> 
> This is the first time I've actually completed a writing project of this size, fanfiction or original fiction, and I'm really happy with how it turned out. Despite it being a Guilty Gear story, I really wanted this to stand on its own, and I wrote it with the intention of feeling like a complete, self-contained story from front to back.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

_April 19, 2171 _

"May I ask you something before we begin?"

It was hard to believe those words came out of the mouth they did. It was way more formal than something you'd expect a child to say, even if they _ were _ a slave. Then again, nothing about the child was ordinary, and his choice of words was quite possibly the most normal thing about him. 

According to all official records, he was ten. He did _ not _ look ten. He looked much more like someone in their mid teens, at least as far as height and weight were concerned, and even that was a bit off the mark. Most teenagers, especially in Zepp, didn't look half as athletic, and his upper body especially had an almost unnatural amount of muscle definition. His arms were about a hand's length longer and closer to the ground than a teenager's should have been, and a hand's length by his standards was quite literally the length of a dinner plate. His face was unmistakably boyish and youthful, mostly appropriate for a child his age, but it didn't look "right". His eyes had no color to them, looking almost like they were covered in cataracts from a distance, but he could see just as well as anyone else.

Outside of that, though, he wasn't too unusual. The barcodes on his bare shoulders, reading "4595605381", were unmistakable proof that he was a slave, and the rest of him looked the part. He was unkempt and disheveled, with hair that probably hadn't been cut properly in years, and certainly never by a professional. It was scraggly, drooping into his face and past his shoulders.

Sergeant Gabriel looked the boy straight in the eyes (mildly alarmed that, despite his age, he was only a head shorter) and said, "You may."

"Why am I here?" the boy asked.

"Because you were shot point blank in the back of the head and didn't die."

The boy reached around to the back of his neck with those dinner plate-sized hands of his and rubbed it gently. He winced. It had been a few days since that happened, but touching the bruise was still a little uncomfortable.

"I don't know what you were shot with, but I was told it was something they bring out when they want to be sure one bullet gets the job done. You're a very lucky kid. It's not every day someone gets acquitted of treason."

"Treason". There was that word again. The boy had heard it a lot during the past several days, and he was pretty sure it was being used the wrong way. The crime he'd been arrested for was labeled "treason", but in practice, it was only petty theft. He was starving and stole his warden's rations. The other kids did it all the time, and he probably wouldn't have done it if he hadn't been assured by them that no one ever got caught, and if they did, they didn't have much to lose anyway. It was a lot harder for him to get away with it compared to his peers. He was bigger and much easier to notice. He never imagined they'd try to execute him over stolen food, but of course, they justified it as "setting an example". Problem was, they couldn't execute him. The incident had to be reported to their higher ups, and the boy was largely left in the dark about what was going on.

"With due respect, sir," the boy said, bowing his head. "I'm still not sure what surviving a bullet has to do with getting combat training."

Gabriel sighed. He wasn't sure of all of the details either. He was just following orders, but he supposed the boy was at least owed something of an explanation. It wouldn't hurt to say what he knew.

"I assume you've noticed by now that you're not normal," Gabriel said. The boy silently nodded. "Since the symptoms first presented themselves, it's been assumed that you simply had a growth disorder. The Empire never cared about that. If you can work harder sooner, it's not as much of a concern if you die younger too." 

The boy tried to hide his discomfort with that statement. He knew it was true, but most people wouldn't have put it that bluntly, even when addressing a slave.

"One of your superiors mentioned that you could bend steel. That's quite impressive, but not completely inconceivable for someone your size, depending on what was meant by 'steel'. A bullet bouncing off your skin, though? That shouldn't be possible.

"As far as I'm aware and anyone will tell me, you're completely human and you have no magical aptitude to speak of. This is apparently the result of some genetic mutation. I was told your grip strength was measured at 500 kilograms a day after you were brought in. That's about thirty times what it should be for someone your age, and far beyond ordinary human limits. You also haven't reached puberty yet."

"I still don't understand," the boy said. He wasn't as tense as he was earlier. Unlike most of the other men who gave him orders, Gabriel didn't make him feel like he was always doing something wrong.

"You're young and malnourished. Despite that, you literally have the strength of ten men. How strong do you think you'll be as an adult?"

The boy silently puzzled for a moment. His train of thought was almost immediately interrupted.

"Fact of the matter is, no one knows. Not you, not me, not Zepp. But it wouldn't make sense for you to get any weaker, and no sane government would pass up a soldier with your strength as-is."

"You want _ me _ to be a soldier?" the boy asked.

"_I _ don't want you to be a soldier. _ Zepp _ wants you to be a soldier," Gabriel said.

The boy wanted to say something, but thought it was best to hold his tongue.

"Now then, if that's out of the way, you should start stretching."

* * *

Sweat glistened down the boy's face. He'd been granted permission to stop and have water. It was a reprieve he needed. Most of his life had been spent doing manual labor, but it was never this exhausting. He had always been strong enough to get done what he was told to do without much effort. That didn't matter here. He was told to do the same thing over and over until he got it, even if it took hours.

He didn't know anything about fighting. He had been in a "fight" _ once _, and it would be generous to call it that. There was an argument over food and he stepped in. One kid punched him and he slapped him back. It was enough to break his jaw. That was years ago, and no one had dared to pick a fight with him since.

No one had ever taught him how to make a fist. No one had ever taught him how to stand while fighting or how to look someone in the eye. It was alien to him. 

Almost the entire day had been spent going over how to punch properly. There was a clock in the courtyard they were practicing in (it had to be a wide open space, for fear of him accidentally breaking something), and he started watching it three hours ago, when he was already part way in. He was much stronger than Gabriel had anticipated or planned for, and it wasn't for lack of trying. Just finding an appropriate target to practice on was an impossible task. The boy managed to go through more than a dozen sandbags practicing. Gabriel eventually gave up with the sandbags and offered _ himself _ for target practice, but the boy refused and couldn't be convinced it was okay. He was too afraid of hurting someone. After that, they decided to take a break.

Gabriel was sweating too, but less from strain and more from stress. The boy was strong, but he was _ not _ a fighter. He constantly pulled his punches, even when he was told not to hold back, and it was probably because of his instincts. There was too much variance in their force to be explained by sloppy technique alone. The boy just didn't have the conviction to put everything into a punch. That was probably a good thing when he was working in labor camps, but the military was a completely different beast.

"I think that's enough for today," Gabriel announced.

The boy breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He almost thought it'd _ never _ be over.

"We'll meet again in three days and continue to do this every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afterward."

His gut turned over with disappointment. There was a brief moment of silence before Gabriel broke it again.

"You know, I never did get your name," he said.

"4595605381," the boy answered.

"No, not your code number, your _ name_," Gabriel said firmly.

The boy looked at him uncomfortably. It was a question he'd never been asked before. Even the other kids usually just shortened it to "381". 

"I... I don't have one, sir," the boy sheepishly said.

Gabriel was momentarily stunned. Even slaves usually had names. They weren't always supposed to be _ used_, but they still had them. Most of the ones who didn't were the children of political prisoners, raised by the state. Either that or their parents -- or anyone else who would call them by their given name -- were dead. He wondered what the case was for this boy, but tried not to dwell on it too much. It wasn't something he wanted to come up while training. There was no greater distraction than drowning in old memories you wanted to leave behind.

"Do you... _ want _ a name? It's easier to communicate that way than using your designation."

Despite his lack of defined irises, the boy's eyes lit up, but he quickly restrained himself. He'd learned to never look too eager for anything. "Y-yes. Please," he said anxiously.

Gabriel took a moment to think on it. It was a long moment. A long, quiet moment. He needed to take his time, because this was bound to change the boy's life forever.

Finally, he said, "How about 'Potemkin'?"

"What does it mean?" the boy asked with the type of wide, eager eyes that only children could have.

"It was the name of an ancient battleship."

"What's a battleship?"

Gabriel blinked. He shouldn't have been so surprised. Slaves were often sheltered to the point that they knew little of the outside world, especially its history.

"They were large ocean vessels used in naval warfare centuries ago." Judging by the look on his face, the boy didn't know what _ that _ meant either, but Gabriel ignored it and continued. "Battleships were symbols of power for the nations that owned them, imposing enough that they didn't always have to be used in combat to serve as a threat."

"...Is that how you see me?"

Gabriel snorted. "Not exactly." Though it was probably how the military saw him -- a thought he decided to keep to himself. "The Potemkin was famous for an act of mutiny during the Russian revolution of 1905. Big, tough, rebellious." That last part with said with a smirk. "It also sounds strong. I think it suits you well."

The boy took a moment to digest what Gabriel was saying before he replied, "I think so too."

"Potemkin it is then."

Potemkin smiled. It was the first time in his life anyone had treated him like a human being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS**
> 
>   * All of the people who were involved in the beta process for this. Several were IRL friends, but I want to give a shoutout to Ninja Raptor and [JhinoftheOpera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhinoftheOpera/pseuds/JhinoftheOpera).
>   * Blade and [guiltygear.ru](http://guiltygear.ru/), for providing transcripts of full game text for the first three Guilty Gear games, which saved me a lot of time.
>   * Blade's Tumblr blog, [gear-project](https://gear-project.tumblr.com/), for compiling a lot of information about the games. Some of the speculation there inspired elements of this story.
>   * [keeponrock.in](https://keeponrock.in/#/), for providing an accessible database of match footage that I cross-referenced while writing certain chapters.
>   * [Piccolo Sky](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/828991/Piccolo-Sky) on FFN, for writing a novelization of Guilty Gear: The Missing Link that partially inspired this story.
>   * Ninja Raptor, for reading my dumb story about a series he doesn't know anything about and taking a commission for the cover art.


	2. Worth a Thousand Words

_ August 7, 2171 _

"You need to shout when you punch!"

It had been almost four months since Gabriel had started teaching Potemkin how to fight. Despite his best efforts, there was always one principle that seemed to escape him: he had trouble punching like he meant it. It was something they went over again once every few weeks, and every time, Gabriel tried something new to help him. It wasn't a lost cause -- he _ was _ getting better, he just wasn't quite there yet.

Potemkin gave a half-hearted yell as he hit his practice dummy. The military had started designing them specifically to withstand his punches, and they only managed to go through one a week now.

"Louder!" Gabriel shouted. 

He was sitting on a bench a good distance away from Potemkin, and for good reason. The dummies were more durable, but he hadn't convinced them to make better stands for them yet, and the last time he was too close while Potemkin was practicing, one was hit clean off its stand and smacked him in the face. It didn't _hurt_, but it wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat.

"Sir, I don't understand why you want me to shout!" Potemkin called.

"The Japanese called it a 'kiai'," he yelled back. "It's a pretty simple principle. Your voice has to have a lot of energy to shout, so your punches have more energy when you shout at the same time." There was a lot more to it than just that, but that was the important part for Potemkin to know.

Potemkin shouted and punched the dummy again. It shook, but Gabriel could tell he wasn't giving it everything. The shout and the punch were too disjointed, and the pitch of his yell was wrong.

"One more time!" he called. "Shout with your gut, not your throat!"

Potemkin did as he was instructed. His voice was deeper this time, but it still had that issue of being disjointed. There was something wrong, and Gabriel had a feeling it was deeper than Potemkin just not "getting it".

"Alright, stop for a moment!" he shouted. He walked over to Potemkin and looked him in the eyes. It was amazing how much of a difference four months had made. He was still a slave, but he wasn't treated the way the ones in labor camps were. He was too valuable to treat that poorly, and the military had high hopes for him. Everything he did was dictated by the state, but he was their pet now, and pets got privileges livestock didn't. He was even learning to read, and was very proud of himself for sounding out a sign a few weeks ago. Gabriel wondered what the intent behind that was, but he imagined it had something to do with special operations.

He didn't look like the same person anymore. Granted, he was still dressed like a slave. The law required his shoulders to be bare at all times to display his barcode, and he hadn't become keen on shirts yet. Beyond that, though, he was fairly well-kempt now, tying his scraggly hair back into a long ponytail and making a genuine attempt to look presentable. His growth had probably been stunted before thanks to poor nutrition, but now that he had the military's favor, that changed for the better. He'd definitely been underweight before, though his "ideal" weight at this point was anyone's guess. He was only a hair taller -- still standing below Gabriel's nose -- but his frame had filled out so much that, in hindsight, he may as well have been a skeleton when they'd first met. Before, he had just looked older and more athletic than was normal for his age. Now he was pushing what was humanly possible for an _ adult_.

Potemkin panted and rubbed sweat off his brow. He was working hard, but it was never enough for Gabriel. "I don't understand what I'm doing wrong," he said.

"I've already told you the problem is that you keep pulling your punches," Gabriel said. "Your technique is passable now, but there's just no spirit in them."

"I-- I don't _ want _ to fight." Potemkin looked away slightly. Those were words he wouldn't dare utter to another person, but he had faith in Gabriel to take them for what they were: an explanation.

"And why is that?" Gabriel asked. His voice was stern, but not unsympathetic.

"I just... I don't want to hurt people."

"Being a soldier isn't about hurting people. It's about _ protecting _ people," Gabriel said.

"But won't I _ have _ to hurt people to protect other people?"

These were the types of questions only children asked about war. Adults usually just accepted their orders, and if they had thoughts like this, they kept them to themselves. They had been conditioned to see their enemies as subhuman, not worthy of mercy. But Potemkin himself had been treated as subhuman for most of his life, so perhaps it was only natural for him to question the way things were.

"That's tough for me to answer," Gabriel said. "I won't sugarcoat it for you. The answer is 'yes'. Sometimes you _ will _ have to hurt people. That's the nature of war. But given the choice, wouldn't you rather fight to save something you care about than sit by and let the world try to destroy it?"

"I don't care about Zepp," Potemkin said.

"Zepp is more than its government," Gabriel said. "A country isn't about who rules it, it's about its people and the bonds they share. Zepp is not a perfect nation, but no country can claim to be. The whole world has fallen on hard times, and Zepp is no exception, but if no one fights for today, then there might not _ be _ a tomorrow. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Potemkin said. His voice was about as enthusiastic as it could be. Gabriel's words were heavy and difficult for him to mentally digest. He had never given much thought to what being a soldier _ meant_. He was just told it was something he would have to do when he was older.

"Now, then, you said your issue was that you don't want to hurt people," Gabriel said. "Would it help you to imagine you're punching something that _ isn't _ human? Like a robot or a Gear?"

"What's a Gear?" Potemkin asked.

Gabriel was a bit stunned by the response. He knew based on experience with Potemkin that slave children lived _ very _ sheltered lives with little education, but never having heard of Gears? His classes needed to cover a lot more than just literacy.

"That's a bit too complicated for me to explain right now, and I don't want us getting even further off track," Gabriel said. Potemkin looked a bit disappointed by that. "I'm going to find something else for you to practice on temporarily -- something that's not human-shaped."

"I thought you said it was important for me to know how and where to punch someone, though," Potemkin said.

"Normally, yes, but for now, it's more important that you learn to stop holding back," Gabriel said. "I'll be back in a moment."

It took Gabriel less than three minutes to return, carrying a cylindrical metal garbage can with him. It was painted pale blue, almost the same color as Gabriel's uniform, and the top layer of paint was chipping. He dropped it in front of Potemkin. It was fairly tall, reaching up to the base of his chest.

"Now remember," Gabriel said. He stood up straight as a line and spoke with authority. "It's not a person. You have no reason to hold back. Bend your knees so that you hit it dead center. Make sure you shout, just like I told you."

Gabriel took a few steps back to give his student some distance. Potemkin took a heavy breath. His eyes narrowed as he lowered himself and focused on the trash can. He could do this. He told himself he could do this. He'd be stuck learning to punch properly forever if he couldn't. He curled a fist, took another deep breath, and slammed it into the trash can with a shout. His voice was drowned out by the deafening sound of crunching metal.

Gabriel wished he had taken a few more steps back. For a fraction of a second, he thought a bomb had gone off. The force of Potemkin's punch hadn't dented the trash can -- it _ shattered _ it. There was a gaping hole where it had been hit, as if something exploded in that exact spot. Shards of metal were scattered in all directions -- including both of their faces -- but it wasn't enough to leave scratches. It was, however, enough to leave Gabriel speechless.

Potemkin looked alarmed by the damage he'd done. He panted, not out of exhaustion, but surprise. "Di-- did I do well, sir?" he asked his mentor.

It took Gabriel a moment to collect himself and reply with, "That... that was... _ beyond _ what I expected."

He had to mentally remind himself of something he had when they first met: Potemkin was ten. He was still just a child. He would be stronger when he was older.

"That's enough for today," Gabriel announced.

Potemkin wanted to be pleased, but he couldn't tell if Gabriel was and that was dampening his mood. His reaction reminded him of the guard who tried and failed to execute him.

"Before I dismiss you, though, there's something I need to do," Gabriel said. "Come over here."

Potemkin did as he was told, stepping uncomfortably over the shards of metal. He thought he could feel one of them pierce his boots.

Gabriel reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a rectangular container a bit longer than his palm. He presented it to Potemkin, saying, "This is for you."

Potemkin looked at the plastic box, then looked up at Gabriel. He was smiling. Potemkin gave a sheepish smile back. Something about this felt improper, but he didn't want to be rude and point that out. He accepted the gift and opened the box.

"Pencils?"

"Pencils," Gabriel replied. "I was told that you were doodling in the margins of your papers when you were told to practice writing. My superiors suggested I should tell you to stop, and this is my way of doing it. Paper should be easy for you to get on your own. Put some practice into it and your drawings might make as much of an impact as your punches."

"Th-thank you," Potemkin said. It meant a lot to him -- more than he could put into words. He had never owned anything before, and even pencils were something to cherish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided not to clutter the actual chapters with my notes, but you can see [my Tumblr](https://junk-artist.tumblr.com/post/613664078516322304/in-slaves-glory-chapter-2-junkartist-guilty) for notes on this chapter and later ones.


	3. A Whipcrack to the Soul

_ March 21, 2174 _

Gabriel had a whip today.

Potemkin was transfixed by it. Blood rushed out of his face as he stared. Dozens of painful memories were dredged up by the sight of it. It had been a long time since he last saw or thought about a whip.

"Don't worry, it's not for you," Gabriel said. "It's for a demonstration."

He had a feeling Potemkin would get like this, but that was part of the point. Whips were a symbol of power to a slave -- even one as strong as Potemkin.

Potemkin had changed a lot since they had first met. He wasn't a boy anymore, but he wasn't a man yet either. He was still only thirteen, but he was more mature, his voice was deeper, and he was bigger. _ Much _ bigger. Gabriel only came up to his shoulders now, and those shoulders were about twice the width of his waist. "Athletic" was no longer a good descriptor -- no athlete had a build as extreme as his. Potemkin's entire upper body was inhumanly massive and out of proportion with the rest of him. His arms were much longer than they should have been and would have made an ordinary man's look like twigs by comparison. And despite that, there was still something about him that reminded Gabriel of a young animal that hadn't grown into its paws yet.

Gabriel held the whip taut in front of his face. "I don't know exactly what Zepp has been teaching you, so tell me Potemkin: what do you know about whips?" he asked.

"That they hurt."

Or at least, they _ used to _ hurt. He hadn't been lashed with one since he was seven or eight. He quickly learned to hate their sting on his back after his masters started to use them on him. The fear of them made him more obedient. He didn't know if it would _ still _ hurt to get whipped. Thinking on it, it probably wouldn't if one of the guards hit him, but he knew from experience that Gabriel was strong, and that would make a big difference. But Gabriel wouldn't whip him... right?

"Well, I suppose that's a start," Gabriel said. He honestly hadn't expected much more, but it didn't hurt to ask. Gabriel released the end of the whip, then cracked it. The sound echoed across the courtyard. 

"That sound you're hearing is a sonic boom," Gabriel said. "It's a shockwave generated when something moves faster than the sound it creates. Whips, bullets, and jets can make them. I think you're strong enough now that you should be able to do something similar."

"So you want me to... I have to move faster than sound?" Potemkin said with something resembling certainty.

"Precisely," Gabriel said. "It may seem like a tall order, but I don't think it'll be that difficult for you. Like I said, you should be more than strong enough. All you're lacking right now is the finesse." And although Gabriel didn't want to say it out loud, that statement was true in a lot of respects.

"How is making a sonic boom going to help me?" Potemkin asked.

"Well, it's not _ exactly _ meant to be a sonic boom," Gabriel said. "Have you ever heard of a mantis shrimp?"

"No, sir," Potemkin said.

"They're tiny sea creatures that hunt more or less by punching their prey. They strike so fast that they change the water pressure enough to create shockwaves that can kill even if the punch itself doesn't connect. It doesn't work on exactly the same principles in air, but something similar is possible."

"And you think _ I _ can do that?"

"I _ know _ you can do that."

It was a powerful statement, and Potemkin didn't see a lick of doubt in Gabriel's eyes. That gave him confidence.

Gabriel motioned for Potemkin with a "Come over here." Potemkin obeyed without question.

"This is hard to see, so it's something you'll need to feel to understand," Gabriel said. "This shouldn't hurt you, but brace yourself."

Potemkin was stunned. For a split second, he thought Gabriel was going to hit him with the whip, but quickly collected himself when he realized that wasn't the case. No. He dropped the whip. He was going to use his fists.

Potemkin learned to associate strength with size and musculature pretty quickly (he was getting stronger with age, and that was, after all, the biggest physical change he went through and what distinguished him from ordinary people), so as he got older and bigger, it seemed stranger and stranger that Gabriel was stronger than him, especially now that his mentor was maybe half his size by weight. According to Gabriel, that was because there was a lot more to strength than just muscles. Potemkin didn't understand what he meant.

Gabriel changed his stance and readied a punch. Potemkin put his forearms in front of his face. He had only recently started blocking that way, and it still felt "off". Gabriel told him that it would be better to fight differently from how someone normal would, since his odd proportions changed a lot of dynamics. He steeled himself and, as best he could, looked Gabriel in the eyes.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

Gabriel's fist shot forward like a bullet. He was right that it didn't hurt, but that was only because Potemkin's body and nerves were both like steel. A normal man would have had their forearms shattered. A normal man might be _ dead _.

"Alright, that's what a normal punch should feel like for comparison," Gabriel said. "_ This _ is what I've been talking about."

He punched again, this time faster, and Potemkin heard a sound like rolling thunder accompany it. He felt something _ like _ a fist crash into his forearms -- and an invisible force smack into the bridge of his nose. Something had slipped through the crack between his arms that he was using to observe Gabriel, and it was enough to leave a mark.

Gabriel stood up straight. Potemkin followed suit.

"I think that should get the principle across," Gabriel said. "Producing shockwaves is a useful skill, and one ordinary people cannot hope to utilize. It's obviously not as powerful as punching, but it can deal damage from a distance, even if your attack doesn't actually make contact. You have impressive reach already, but you should be able to extend it even further this way. There are a lot of different applications for this, and after you understand how it's done, you won't necessarily have to use your fists."

Potemkin was in awe. This seemed like magic to him. He knew -- technically -- that wasn't. Gabriel had bothered to explain what "magic" really meant before, and why he would probably never be able to use it, but this seemed close conceptually.

"You probably won't be able to do this _ immediately _, but don't let that discourage you," Gabriel said. "It'll take a lot of time and practice to perfect this, but you have to start somewhere. 

"Now, let's begin."

* * *

To Gabriel's surprise, Potemkin _ was _ able to do it immediately -- literally on his first attempt. In hindsight, it was likely something he should have taught sooner, and it made him wonder if there was anything else he was withholding under similar pretenses that Potemkin was ready for.

Unfortunately, being able to do it on his first attempt didn't mean Potemkin was able to do it _ consistently _ . He got it the first time and the second time, but the third time it didn't work. That made him frustrated, and with frustration came a lack of focus. This was the first time in a while that there was something he _ really _ wanted to be able to do, but he was holding himself back more than he knew.

Potemkin was about ready to pass out. It was technically the first day of spring, but at Zepp's altitude, the air still felt like winter. Despite that, he was drenched in sweat. He had been practicing for four hours, and the breaks he took during that time were brief. He wanted to keep going, but at this point, he was about to collapse.

"I think that's enough for today," Gabriel announced. "You're dismissed."

Still panting, Potemkin said, "Um, sir, before I leave, there was something I wanted to ask you."

One of Gabriel's eyebrows rose. "Yes?"

"Am I... am I _ human? _"

Gabriel was taken aback by the question. His usual stoicism was broken by it, even if it was for just a moment. "Potemkin, is something wrong?" he asked. He could see distress in his student's eyes.

"I just want to know, sir," he said.

"...Sit down for a moment," Gabriel said. He motioned toward a metal bench near the edge of the courtyard and went to sit down. Potemkin followed silently. The bench creaked under his weight when he sat.

Gabriel looked up at Potemkin. Potemkin looked down, on multiple levels. "What happened?" Gabriel asked. His voice didn't sound quite as sympathetic as it has before, but it wasn't completely calloused either. If what he said sounded like an order, it was only to get a straight answer.

"I ripped the door to my room off over the weekend," Potemkin said. His voice was direct, but it sounded almost like he choked it out.

"Because you were upset?"

"No, I just... I pulled it too hard." It was hard to tell because of his eyes, but Potemkin was looking away.

"And then what?"

"Some men had to fix it and replace it with something sturdier. I wasn't supposed to leave while they did and I heard them talking about me. They said that I couldn't be human, that I had to be a Gear or some kind of monster. That isn't true... right?"

"Potemkin..." Gabriel sighed, "Most people don't know you or know anything about you, so they're going to assume things that aren't true. Did they also think you were going to hurt them?"

"...

"...Yes."

"And have you ever hurt anyone before? _ Intentionally? _"

"No, sir."

"Then why would you think _ anything _ they say about you is true?"

Potemkin thought on that for a moment. Gabriel had a good point.

"You're getting older and you look strange compared to most people. I can't say for sure, but I'd imagine your... _ differences _ will be even more pronounced when you're older," Gabriel said. "But that doesn't mean you aren't _ human _. You just have an unusual gift is all."

"A gift?" Potemkin repeated.

"Well, I definitely wouldn't call it a curse," Gabriel said. "You would almost certainly be dead by now if you weren't as strong as you are, and you live a much better life than most slaves. I think looking a bit odd is a small price to pay for that, don't you?"

Potemkin was silent. That was true. Sometimes he almost forgot he was a slave. But he worried about the future. Gabriel always told him it was better to be stronger, that it gave him privileges beyond his birthright, but even though slaves weren't treated like _ people _ , at least everyone knew they were _ human _.

"I guess you're right..." Potemkin said, his voice trailing off.

"What was that?" Gabriel said. "You didn't sound very certain."

"I-I said you're right, sir!" Potemkin said with an attempt at confidence.

"Good," Gabriel said. "Now, then, you should probably go rest. Make sure you shower beforehand, and don't break the door to it."

Gabriel almost never joked, and it was hard to tell from his tone of voice whether or not that last part was a joke. Even if it was, though, Potemkin accepted his orders. Whether he realized it or not, he was going to make a fine soldier. Zepp's finest even, if everything panned out for Gabriel. He had very high hopes for Potemkin -- hopes neither Zepp nor Potemkin himself could know about for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See [my Tumblr](https://junk-artist.tumblr.com/post/613664133526716416/in-slaves-glory-chapter-3-junkartist-guilty) for notes.


	4. Under the Needle

_January 17, 2175_

Potemkin's shoulders were too big.

That wasn't his opinion -- it was Zepp's opinion, and they had a very good reason for holding it. Potemkin was growing very quickly. That was to be expected from someone around his age, but by weight, he was several times bigger than a normal fourteen-year-old. His arms and chest especially had grown out of proportion with the rest of him, and that was a serious issue, because his code number was on one of his shoulders.

Every slave in Zepp had a code number and a barcode. The code number was given at birth and a barcode with that number beneath it was tattooed on their right shoulder when they were children. The tattoo was both a brand that symbolized Zepp's ownership of its people and a method of identification. Slaves were required to have the tattooed shoulder exposed at all times -- even in the dead of winter.

Because it had to be applied at such a young age, the tattoo was sometimes touched up when a slave was older due to how their skin stretched and the ink faded. Usually, that happened around sixteen or seventeen years of age, and it wasn't especially urgent. In Potemkin's case, it was. While the barcode itself was purely symbolic, the numbers had become so distorted that they were almost illegible. Potemkin had to recite his number whenever he went anywhere now, but that was a cause for suspicion since some of the numbers were so hard to verify. The tattoo had to be redone immediately, and more than likely, it would have to happen again when he was older.

Normally, Potemkin wasn't allowed to stray far from his one-man barrack. He was allocated a small room in a residential building connected to a weapons research facility. He was given limited mobility in the building -- enough to use the bathroom and go out to the courtyard he did combat training in. There was also a gym he was free to use (the equipment was all designed to make the user work against themselves; apparently, it had been designed for Gabriel, who didn't live far away, but they rarely encountered one another during normal days), but not much else beyond that. He had a strict curfew. He was told when to wake up, when to eat, what to do for the day, and when to sleep.

Today was different. He'd been notified about this a few days in advance. He was supposed to report to a building halfway across Zepp to have his tattoo redone. The entire time, he'd been accompanied by armed guards. It occurred to him that they almost certainly weren't strong enough to overpower him, but he didn't want to cause trouble.

Right now, he was standing in a place that was all too familiar. A chrome colored mechanical arm dropped down from the ceiling of an expressionless room. At the end of the arm were rows of needles. Potemkin was transfixed by it.

He remembered the last time he was in a room like this. He was six at the time. They put him in a reclined chair at the center of the room and strapped him in with a bunch of restraints to make sure he wouldn't budge. The arm came down from the ceiling and punched the needles in and out of his skin. He screamed and thrashed and pleaded for it to stop, but it felt like it went on forever. It wasn't an experience he ever wanted to repeat, but he had no choice.

There was a glass room divider on the wall left from the door and a technician on the other side. Potemkin could tell from the look on her face that she found his appearance unsettling. He was used to that expression at this point. The chair was exactly where Potemkin remembered it, straps and everything. He swallowed hard as the technician motioned for him to get in the chair.

He stepped up, put some weight on the step, and felt metal creak underfoot. He looked down to see a depression in the chair and realized that he was lifting the other end of it off the ground. Almost immediately, he pulled his foot off the chair and there was a heavy thud. Potemkin couldn't help but notice the technician behind the glass. He couldn't hear her properly, but he knew how someone's mouth moved when they said "What the hell?" She got up from her seat and left Potemkin's field of vision.

Potemkin hoped he wasn't in trouble. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened recently, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. Last year it had been the door to his room. Two months ago it was one of the benches in the courtyard he trained in. A week ago he broke a desk during one of his classes. Today he was worried about the chair.

The world just wasn't made for someone with his size or strength, and the older he got, the more of a problem it became. He tried to tell Gabriel a few weeks ago that he didn't want to get any stronger, and to his surprise, Gabriel -- who was normally quite sympathetic toward him -- brushed it off. He said that Potemkin was just going through a phase. Most teenagers were naturally more self-conscious at this point in their lives, but he'd get over it in due time. According to Gabriel, he had nothing to be ashamed of, and the strength he was so concerned about would both sort itself out and be an asset well worth the discomfort it was causing him at the moment.

That didn't help much. He still felt like a monster. Gabriel was the only person who didn't look at him like he was one. Now that the technician was back in the room, he could feel her piercing eyes looking over him. He knew exactly what she thought about him.

The technician also looked impatient and disgruntled. She motioned for him to get on the chair. This time, he climbed up from the side and was more careful about how he distributed his weight. The cushion on it still felt awkward when he sat down. He compressed it to the point that he could feel the metal underneath it. The technician sighed and pressed a button on a nearby control panel. Straps shot up from the seat and looped around his right arm. Potemkin was a bit surprised that they were able to fit around it, but they did have prior warning, so it was possible that they were adjusted just for him.

The technician pressed another button. Potemkin heard the mechanical arm whir to life. He clenched his teeth and slammed his eyes shut. He didn't want to look at the damn thing, but he could hear it coming closer. He flinched. The straps snapped. With a pained expression, he looked over at the technician, who looked like she was cursing under her breath. She stopped the machine and went out of sight again. Even through the glass, he could hear her raising her voice and made out the heavily-stressed word "freak". Potemkin's heart sank.

It took a few minutes, but the arm was turned on again. There was nothing even pretending to hold Potemkin down this time, but he knew he couldn't freak out again. Breaking the strap and rocking the chair was one thing, but he could tell that the mechanical arm was much more expensive than either of those, and he didn't know what would happen if he managed to break it. He tried to hold his arm steady with his free hand as the tattoo machine approached. He pulled his head away and tried not to think about it. Maybe it would be less painful now that he was older.

The buzzing sound the arm made got louder. He felt cold metal brush against his skin and did his best to stay perfectly still. There was a sudden depression and release. Despite Potemkin's nervousness, it didn't even sting. It happened again and again, but something didn't quite feel right. 

Potemkin pulled his arm back and looked up. The machine automatically stopped once it missed its mark. He looked at the rows of needles. Each and every tip was bent. He looked at his shoulder. Nothing. No marks. They hadn't even scratched him.

He turned to look at the technician, who was looking back at him with a blank expression. After a few seconds of staring, she stormed off. Potemkin bit his lip. It didn't take long for her to slam open the door to the room he was in. He sat up in response.

"What did you do?" she shouted.

"I-I didn't do anything!" Potemkin said.

The technician's eyes moved from the broken straps to the bent needles. Her jaw dropped. She was literally speechless.

"I swear it's not my fault..." Potemkin said.

The technician's voice almost dropped to a whisper as she said "What the hell are you?"

Potemkin felt muscles in his throat tense. Mentally, he didn't know how to answer that. Physically, he couldn't.

The technician didn't say another word. She closed the door and walked off. Potemkin didn't see her in the room she was in before, but he could hear her voice. Even though it was raised, the words were difficult to make out. There was another voice -- one much calmer and quieter -- that she was speaking to. He could only understand one sentence for certain: she shouted "How are we supposed to get diamond needles?"

Potemkin reclined and stared at the ceiling. The lights made his vision blurry and his eyes lost focus. How could something so simple have turned into such a disaster?

After a few minutes, an unfamiliar man stepped through the door. He had a posh aesthetic, not too dissimilar to the technician. "Given the circumstances, we have to dismiss you," he said. "This will be rescheduled for a later date, after we get appropriate equipment."

Potemkin gave a heavy sigh, releasing pent up tension. He had a feeling he would still be in trouble for this, but at least he didn't have to deal with the other technician anymore. He could only hope he'd be assigned someone different next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See [my Tumblr](https://junk-artist.tumblr.com/post/613664334441299968/in-slaves-glory-chapter-4-junkartist-guilty) for notes.


	5. Not All Fallout is Nuclear

_ June 9, 2176 _

Gabriel knocked on the door to Potemkin's quarters. The door was made of metal so thick that it muffled the sound. He knocked again, this time harder. If there was a response, Gabriel didn't hear it. He didn't bother announcing that he was going in.

Potemkin was sitting with his back pressed against a wall. His knees were drawn close to his chest, looking miniscule compared to his upper body. There was a thick mat in the center of the room with a Potemkin-shaped depression in it. Against the opposite wall was an actual bed, but the metal rails to the sides of the mattress were warped so badly that they kissed the ground. The mattress itself had a depression in it just like the mat, one so extreme that it didn't seem usable anymore.

Sheets of paper covered in drawings were scattered near the back of the room. It wasn't like Potemkin to leave his things lying around. Almost all of the sketches were half complete with some noticeable flaw on them, points where his pencil had slipped from his fingers. Mixed in with the paper were the suspect pencils, all of which were cracked somewhere near the center. Too much pressure had been applied and they gave under the stress.

"Potemkin..." Gabriel said. His words echoed off the walls. The room was surprisingly small and didn't leave much space to move around. The acoustics amplified noise well, even though Gabriel's voice was soft. Potemkin's head turned ever so slightly to look over at Gabriel, but he didn't say anything. He looked like he wanted to, though.

This wasn't the first time Gabriel had seen Potemkin like this recently. He had just hoped the boy was in a slightly better mood today than yesterday. Clearly that wasn't the case.

Yesterday, the military decided it was time for a change in Potemkin's training regiment. He'd been doing consistent combat training under Gabriel for more than five years, but he'd yet to be in anything resembling a practical scenario. Gabriel protested the suggestion for almost a month before the decision was made. Potemkin was, after all, still only fifteen. Zepp wouldn't be swayed by an argument that it was cruel or immoral to put someone so young in a combat scenario, but he was at a point in life where he wasn't emotionally stable and had no chance to get used to _ actual _ combat. With his strength, it was a recipe for disaster. It was a warning that ultimately fell on deaf ears.

To Gabriel's chagrin, they met somewhere in the middle and it was decided that simulations would be a good place for Potemkin to start. Gabriel would have much rather had it postponed entirely, but it wasn't his choice to make. Potemkin would be locked in a room by himself for a few hours with some holograms and robots and told to complete a simple task while cameras watched him. It sounded innocent enough, but no one except Gabriel really understood why it was such a bad idea until after it happened.

It took about fifteen minutes for Potemkin to do an estimated 20 million World Dollars of property damage. It was hard to say what happened because all of the cameras had been ruined by the incident, and despite some effort, no one had recovered footage yet. Potemkin himself didn't want to talk about it (the most he said was "it was an accident"), but there was only debris left of the building he had been training in. All of that expensive equipment was damaged by ceiling collapsing, and a lot of it was beyond repair. Gabriel had been called in to locate him and found him at ground zero, in more or less the same position and mindstate he was in now.

The silence between Gabriel and Potemkin felt longer than it actually was. It seemed like time was standing still until Potemkin spoke up.

"Sir... I don't want to be a soldier," he said.

"You know that isn't your choice to make," Gabriel said.

As usual, Gabriel was right. Potemkin wasn't allowed to make choices. He was told what to do and he did it. He did what he was supposed to do yesterday. He just did it too well, and that frightened him and everyone else around him.

"Everyone makes mistakes, Potemkin," Gabriel continued. "I've done a lot of things I've regretted in the line of duty myself, but you can't afford to dwell on your mistakes like this. Buildings can be replaced, and fortunately no one was injured in the accident."

"But what if it happens again?"

"If you keep thinking in 'ifs', they'll become self-fulfilling prophecies. Don't ask yourself _ if _ it will happen again. Tell yourself it _ won't _."

There was a lot of talk this morning about executing Potemkin. Gabriel had been afraid of someone bringing that up for a while, and said some things he wasn't proud of in the boy's defense. 20 million in property damage was a lot, but that was still substantially cheaper than building a new nuclear warhead, and that was where an awful lot of defense spending was going now that the Crusades were finally over. Potemkin was much more cost-effective as a deterrent, and didn't come with centuries of negative stigma attached if he was deployed practically. Gabriel's superiors admitted he had a point, but nothing like this could be allowed to happen in the future, and he had a feeling he would be the one to take the blame if it did. For both their sakes, he couldn't let that happen, and that meant he couldn't let so much as a seed of doubt be sown.

Potemkin took Gabriel's words in. He looked down at his hands with shame. Gabriel always said his strength was a gift, something he should be proud of, but the older he got, the more he frightened himself. Yesterday, he knew it was a curse. A terrible and powerful curse.

"I know," Gabriel said. He could tell almost exactly what Potemkin was thinking. His body language was an open book. "You've never really had control over it."

"I just want to be able to hold a pencil again," Potemkin said.

"That was something I brought up when I was questioned about you," Gabriel said. "Not the pencils specifically, but in general. There was some discussion about finding a way to artificially restrain your strength. Would you be open to that?"

Potemkin looked nervous. He wasn't sure what that would entail, and it frightened him. His mind flooded with images of worst-case scenarios, where he was given medications he didn't understand and reduced to a gangly skeleton. His strength _ was _ a gift. It was the closest thing he had to freedom. Without it, he was just another slave.

"I don't want to be weak," he said.

"It wouldn't be permanent, just a physical restraint. Something you put on sometimes so you don't destroy anything you're not supposed to," Gabriel said. "My superiors said it should be possible to engineer something like that, but it would probably take at least a month."

"You know I didn't mean to, right?" Potemkin blurted out. "I just panicked and I--"

"I know you wouldn't do anything like that intentionally," Gabriel said, interrupting him. "This isn't a punishment, it's something I suggested because I want to help you. I know this has been bothering you for a while, but you should know better than me that the government doesn't care about the welfare of slaves. They only keep you comfortable because they can't afford for you to be physically or mentally stunted -- or insubordinate for that matter.

"I want you to listen to me carefully: if anything like that happens again, you _ will _ be executed. I'm a seregant, not a general or a politician. It's not within my power to prevent that. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir..."

"Potemkin, I need you to speak up!"

"I-I said yes, sir!"

Just speaking loudly, even if it was only for one sentence, changed Potemkin's mood. It wasn't enough to make him happy, but he had more mental energy. He had a feeling that Gabriel knew that, and maybe that's why he did that thing whenever he wasn't feeling quite right. 

Potemkin was jealous of Gabriel. Jealous that he was strong without having to worry about breaking things, jealous of his mental self-control, jealous of his life as a free man, and jealous of how well he handled himself under pressure. But unlike most people consumed with envy, Potemkin didn't see his traits as something he wished were lesser so he would feel better about his faults. Gabriel was more than a mentor -- he was an ideal, something to aspire to. Potemkin just wished he didn't need something the government told him to wear to emulate some small facet of him.

"I have to go now, but I came here to tell you that, as per my request, this incident does _ not _ affect your training regiment," Gabriel said. He purposely neglected to leave in the part where he would take the blame if anything similar happened while training until this situation was under control. "I'll see you tomorrow at 0800 sharp. We can discuss more of the details of the restraint mechanism then, when I have more information myself."

"Yes, sir!"

Potemkin was still physically sitting down, but mentally standing at attention as Gabriel walked out the door. He had a lot to think about before tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See [ my Tumblr](https://junk-artist.tumblr.com/post/613664519933345792/in-slaves-glory-chapter-5-junkartist-guilty) for notes.


	6. In the Shadow of a Colossus

_ October 18, 2176 _

"You don't _ actually _ think he can take a mech bare-handed, do you?"

"Honestly, I think it's a bit insulting that they're using one of these things as a measuring stick," Gabriel said. "But I suppose there's nothing else they could use to test him. Nothing else they'd be okay with breaking, at least."

He was standing in a hangar with a higher ranking officer -- a mech hangar, not an aircraft hangar. It was distinguished by having a much higher ceiling, and they were practically scraping it from a wire balcony. It was the easiest way to observe things in person. The lieutenant had been warned beforehand that this was a safety risk, but he was convinced this was something he needed to see with his own eyes. 

Most of the mechs had been cleared out, both to make sure there was enough space and keep them from being damaged. The military was strongly considering tearing the building down after having another hangar built recently, so there wasn't any danger in doing this here.

Potemkin stood near the center of the hangar. Even from a good thirty meters up, he was unmistakable. The lieutenant had only seen him in person once before, but he'd recognize him anywhere.

If Potemkin was big as a child, he was enormous now. Grown men only came up to his chest and every inch of his body was muscle. His shoulders were so broad that entering doors was starting to become a problem, and his arms were thicker than some people's waists. Fully stretched, they were two-thirds of his body length, and he could fit his head in his hands twice over. His legs were abnormally large compared to an ordinary man's, but looked miniscule in comparison to the rest of him, almost begging the question of how they could support his upper body.

He wore a bulky rust-colored metal collar around his neck. It was customary for slave-soldiers to wear something like it when they were in the field, but Potemkin's had a distinct design. His was, naturally, bigger and covered more of his upper body. There were a matching pair of gauntlets around his wrists, extending to cover the entire back of his hand.

He wasn't supposed to go out anywhere without them now, unless Gabriel specifically told him to take them off. He didn't understand the exact the exact mechanism behind it, but it was explained vaguely as a "kinetic dampener" and he wasn't allowed to know more than that. They were still prototypes, and so far that worked out fine for training. He just still couldn't hold a pencil properly without breaking it. He wished they could fix that, but they weren't designed with his welfare in mind. They were designed with _ buildings' _ welfare in mind.

Potemkin craned his neck up to try to get a better look at his designated opponent. The metal titan towered over him, standing nearly eight times his height. It looked vaguely humanoid, but lacked anything that could be confused for a face (unless it was so small that Potemkin simply couldn't see it from his angle) and had legs that resembled a rabbit's more than a man's. Their design was probably necessary to balance its immense weight. Its armor was mostly silver, with subdued blue and black highlights, giving it a bold outline against the gunmetal gray walls of the hangar.

Potemkin didn't know much about mechs. The most he understood was that they were essentially walking tanks. They were designed to move like a human, and that made them intuitive to pilot. A handful, like this model, could be controlled remotely, so there was no risk of harming someone inside. That was a good thing, because Potemkin had been reluctant to do this before Gabriel explained that.

He was told to do one thing today: leave an impression. It didn't matter how he did it as long as he didn't destroy anything important -- he just needed to make himself look good for some cameras installed all over the building. This was an aptitude test, and apparently, passing with flying colors was the best thing to do. According to Gabriel, the easiest way to keep the military from constantly deploying him was to scare them out of it. If he seemed too strong, he would only be used sparingly for the same reasons nuclear weapons were almost never actually used. He wondered if that had to do with why Gabriel was almost never away from Zepp.

"Are you ready?" Gabriel called from the balcony. The acoustics made it easier to hear than it should have been, but also harder to understand.

"Yes, sir!" Potemkin answered as loudly as he could.

Gabriel nodded and pushed a communication device attached to his ear saying, "You may begin."

The metal giant came to life and straightened up ever so slightly. Its movements were simultaneously lumbering and faster than one would assume from its height. "Engaging target," it said. The words were warped by what was projecting them, but they had the fluidity and intonation of human speech.

The mech's fist barreled down at Potemkin. He was caught off guard by its sudden movement, but not enough to let it connect properly. Using both hands, he caught it by the edges of its fist, skidding back in the process. His boots made a harsh squealing sound as they ground against the metal floor. Potemkin huffed as its momentum slid to a halt.

He tightened his grip on the mech's fist and adjusted his hands slightly so he held on better. It had an unusual texture that he couldn't quite describe, unlike anything else he had ever felt before. Whatever it was, it didn't feel like metal, even though -- as far as he could tell -- it _ was _ made of metal. He clenched his teeth as he pulled it over his shoulder, turning around as he used its weight to help slam it into the floor. The ground shook as it hit.

Looking down at the scene, Gabriel's superior was stunned. The floor was violently warped where the mech hit it, leaving torn metal on top of a vaguely humanoid crater.

"Just to clarify, all documentation says he's _ human_, right?" he asked Gabriel. "And no magical abilities?"

"Yes, and nothing I've observed in the past five years contradicts that," Gabriel said.

"You wouldn't consider _ that _ a contradiction?"

"He's very strong for someone his age, but that doesn't mean he isn't human."

The lieutenant opened his mouth, trying to form words, but almost immediately closed it. There was nothing else to say.

On the ground, the mech creaked back to life, pushing itself up from the crater. It stepped over the bent metal, and the ground quaked each time one of its oversized feet touched the floor. Potemkin steeled himself and waited for it to make the first move. It closed the gap between them in two long strides, and used a third to step on him.

Similar to before, Potemkin stopped its foot, this time with open palms splayed upward. He pulled one of his hands back and made a fist. His knees buckled. The mech wasn't hard to hold up, but it was heavy and he was small compared to it, making it hard to balance properly. He couldn't see it properly from his angle, but he imagined it was probably leaning to its side based on its weight distribution. 

Holding it as steadily as he could, he punched upward. The blow was awkward because of its angle, but forceful. Instead of smacking into metal like he expected, though, his fist hit a translucent blue wall that couldn't have been more than a hair's width apart from the actual metal. In less than a second, it dissipated, but his fist and fingers could still feel it.

A forcefield.

That would explain how it was able to take a punch from him. That wasn't a problem, though. It just meant he had to punch a bit harder.

Potemkin bent his elbows and shoved the mech's leg up. He rolled to the side to get out from under its foot before the staggered machine slammed it back on the ground, narrowly missing him. Before it could react, Potemkin threw a punch, this time a proper one at a normal angle, aimed at the mech's ankle. On impact, it connected with the forcefield -- and broke through. It felt like glass shattering. The forcefield was still enough to dampen his blow (it only left a dent in its armor), but the mech was thrown off balance by it and hobbled for a moment as it tried to regain its footing.

Above, the lieutenant was having trouble believing what he was seeing. "Did... did he just _ break _ a forcefield?" he asked Gabriel.

Gabriel wasn't really looking at him. He frowned at the statement. "It wasn't all _ that _ impressive. He didn't even manage to do it with the first hit, but I suppose that's to be expected while he's wearing those limiters."

The lieutenant's eyes widened. "L-_limiters!? _ What do you mean _ limiters? _"

"You mean you weren't briefed on this?" Gabriel asked with genuine surprise. "It would be better to just show you than explain it, then."

Gabriel cupped one hand around his mouth. "Potemkin!" he called. "You can take off your limiters now!"

"A-are you sure, sir?" Potemkin called back.

"I think a verbal explanation would be easier," the lieutenant said with a shaking voice.

"No, you _ will _ want to see this. You might not believe me otherwise," Gabriel said to the lieutenant. He leaned over the rail slightly to make sure it was clear to Potemkin who he was talking to now. "Yes, I'm sure! Just try to leave the building intact if you can!"

The lieutenant's mouth was open, but like before, he didn't know what to say.

"Don't worry," Gabriel reassured him. "I'm not going to let you get hurt if the ceiling caves in."

Judging by the lieutenant's expression, it didn't seem to be good reassurance.

Potemkin took a big leap back to put some distance between himself and the mech. He pressed an indented button on the back of his collar and felt some gears whir inside of it and his gauntlets. As the mech closed the gap between them, both fell off and clattered to the ground. Potemkin opened and closed his fingers a few times, then stretched his neck.

_ "Leave the building intact." _ That was what Gabriel said just a moment ago. But earlier he said _ "Leave an impression." _ He had maybe a few seconds to figure out what to do to meet both of those criteria. It was a good thing he could think well on his feet, because he might have gotten hit if he had taken any longer. Potemkin bent his knees, stuck one arm out, and clenched his thumb and middle finger together.

What happened next was so fast it was hard to see with the naked eye. There was a sound like gunfire as Potemkin released his finger, and a shockwave almost instantly hit the mech dead center. The forcefield around it broke again and its metal chest gave under the stress. It was pushed halfway across the building, only stopping when it smacked into a wall. Everything shook, but the building itself held. 

One hit and the mech wasn't functional anymore. There was a gaping hole in its chest, and wrent gears, pistons, and wires made it clear that it wasn't going to get back up.

"What just happened?" the lieutenant asked, turning to Gabriel.

"It looks like he flicked it," Gabriel answered.

"'Flicked it'? What do you mean by that?"

"You know, like this." Gabriel held up his hand and flicked the air like he was trying to knock a piece of dirt off something.

The lieutenant anxiously looked at Potemkin and the ruined mech. "How is that even _ possible?_" he asked.

"I taught him how to do it."

The lieutenant gave a small, disgruntled sigh. Gabriel was frustrating for him to deal with at times. Even though the man was technically his subordinate, he didn't feel like he was in charge and didn't feel like he could demand a straight answer either. He carried such a strong sense of authority that it was hard to believe his rank was as low as it was. Allegedly, that was because he didn't want to draw too much attention to himself. It was just a rumor, but it made a lot of sense given his goals and how powerful he supposedly was.

"You said he wasn't an adult yet," the lieutenant said, changing the subject. "How old is he anyway?"

"Sixteen. Sixteen today, actually."

"And how strong do you think he'll be when we need him?"

"I wouldn't know. It's not my job to make guesses, lieutenant. It's my job to make sure he surpasses guesswork."

Neither of them spoke for a moment, until the lieutenant finally figured out how to continue. 

"Are you sure he should be involved?" he asked.

"What do you mean by that?" Gabriel said. There was a hint of both surprise and irritation in his voice.

"He's stronger than I imagined, and that's certainly a good thing, but I'm worried about how... _ unsightly _ he is." 

Gabriel's nose wrinkled.

"I-I mean, he's bound to draw attention to himself with that kind of power, but is he someone the people would rally behind? If you had told me he was a Gear before, I would have believed you a lot more quickly than when you said he was human. Don't you think the government could use that to discredit us?"

"I have faith in Zepp's people to look past government propaganda and see Potemkin for who he is," Gabriel said. "Besides, it doesn't really matter what you think about how he looks. He'll be with us regardless of anyone else's opinion on the subject. No slave would fight to keep their chains."

* * *

Potemkin returned to his quarters about an hour sooner than he expected. Apparently, no one (except maybe Gabriel) had expected him to make such short work of the mech. He pulled the door carefully to make sure he didn't rip it off its hinges.

A week ago, he had finally gotten a replacement bed. It was a relief to have one to rest on again, and his eyes were immediately drawn to as soon he opened the door. Sitting on his bed was a small metal box with a piece of paper attached to it -- one he didn't remember putting there.

Potemkin approached it with curiosity and bent down so that he was at eye level with it, nervous about touching it for fear of breaking it. The paper attached was a note that read:

It took me forever to convince anyone that your welfare was important enough to have these made. You did a good job today. Be proud of yourself and enjoy these.

Happy birthday.

\- Gabriel

As gently as he could, Potemkin pulled the note off and lifted the latch on the box. He didn't know what to expect, but was still surprised when saw what was inside: pencils. Ten metal pencils. He picked one of them up and tried to hold it the way he used to when he was able to draw. Despite the pressure he was putting on it, it didn't even bend.

Potemkin's eyes lit up with joy. He rummaged through his room to find some loose pieces of paper. He wanted to sketch the mech he'd fought today before his memory of it was too blurry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See [my Tumblr](https://junk-artist.tumblr.com/post/613664601991774208/in-slaves-glory-chapter-6-junkartist-guilty) for notes.


	7. What My Country Expects of Me

_ March 11, 2177 _

Today was the first day Potemkin had set foot on the ground. Zepp was big enough that it created a convincing imitation of what terrestrial life was like, but it could never truly capture it. There was something about being on the surface that just felt different. As far as he could tell, you didn't randomly end up inside of clouds, and the air was thicker and fresher than it could ever hope to be in Zepp. It was almost too much for his lungs, which were used to a somewhat consistent altitude of 6,000 meters above sea level.

Of course, he wasn't here on vacation. Slaves didn't get vacations. He was here on duty.

Legally speaking, he was old enough to be a soldier at sixteen. The military had waited a good chunk of his life for that exact moment, and his enlistment was swift. After it happened, Gabriel mentioned offhand that there was a point in human history when most countries considered it barbaric to send someone so young to fight and die for their country, but no one had really cared in the past century or so, with the world constantly embroiled in war. In fact, he said Zepp's enlistment age was considered very conservative relative to the rest of the world, and that had a lot to do with not needing to worry about the threat of Gears. 

As a country, Zepp's military activities tended to be restricted to territory skirmishes -- something there was no shortage of. Zepp's airborne nature meant it often had to fly over claimed territory, and some natural resources were in such short supply that they regularly needed to be taken from the surface. That was why Potemkin was here.

Technically, he was in A Country right now. Or at least, he was in a poorly-secured and sparsely-populated chunk of A Country. According to his briefing, this had been a place called Minnesota in the distant past.

A Country was infamous for its political instability and had a lot of trouble maintaining its borders between that and its sheer size. As far as Zepp was concerned, that was a good thing. It meant that they were unlikely to enforce their borders properly, and there were valuable natural resources at some of those borders. There was iron here, and Zepp needed _ a lot _ of iron.

Potemkin wasn't sure what to think about the surface now that he was down here. His whole life, he had assumed that the surface was nothing but a blasted hellscape -- _ especially _ A Country, judging by what little he knew of it. Apparently, that wasn't the case. Granted, the _ mines _ looked like blasted hellscapes, but they were a few kilometers north of his current position. Right now, he was at the edge of a forest, and it was absolutely breathtaking.

He wished he could have brought his pencils and some paper to try to capture it, but they probably would have been carried off in the breeze. An immense wall of trees surrounded him, and all sorts of creatures he had never seen before skittered in and out of the forest. Zepp had wildlife, but it was mostly birds, insects, and escaped pets. There were animals here Potemkin would have thought were mythical creatures just a day ago, and they had very little fear of him. 

There was a nagging temptation to follow them into the forest, but every time he started to think about that, he had to immediately stop himself. There were drones watching his every move. If he wandered too far from base, it would be considered desertion, and the collar around his neck would explode.

Potemkin always knew slave-soldiers wore collars around their necks, but he didn't know about the explosives until yesterday. They replaced his old collar and gauntlets with a new set designed to restrain him better -- physically _ and _ mentally. The gauntlets were quite a piece of work. He hadn't fully figured out how to use them, but they were able to fire short range explosive rounds on command, create small forcefields, and acted as a communication device too durable for him to accidentally destroy. The collar, on the other hand, was meant to keep him from disobeying.

He genuinely didn't believe the claim that the collar would explode initially -- not until he overheard other slave-soldiers talking about how it had happened to a friend or a relative. Even then, he doubted that it would actually kill him if it exploded. Given what he had survived so far without so much as a scratch, he was skeptical anything in Zepp's arsenal short of Gabriel or a nuclear warhead could kill him -- and in all honesty, he would have been tempted to take his chances with the latter if he didn't know what radiation poisoning was. 

However, his commanding officer had assured him that the collar was designed to make sure he was dead, and the only reason it took as long as it did to get him out in the field was because of how long it took to find the correct explosive. It might have just been a bluff, but he didn't want to take that chance. According to Gabriel time and time again, if Zepp wanted him dead, there was no shortage of ways they could accomplish it, regardless of his strength. Even if the explosive _ didn't _ work, it was likely they'd kill him later through other, less kinetic means.

Desertion was an impractical option for him anyway. He had no survival skills whatsoever and was used to having a lot of things done for him. That wasn't the norm for slaves, and when he mentioned what his life was like to any of them (the few who would give him the time of day), their eyes turned green with envy. They wished they could have had actual food, an education, and time for leisure activities like he did. 

He didn't think his life was one to envy, though. Other slaves worked like animals, but he had lived his entire adolescence knowing that he was only afforded luxuries because he was a weapon. His mental well-being was only important as a means to keep him mentally stable and loyal to a cause. Even Gabriel, the one person who had shown him genuine sympathy and compassion, both made no attempt to hide what people saw him as and tried his best to guide him along that path. It took years for Potemkin to realize it, but Gabriel was a weapon too. Not only that, but he didn't even mind that. In his eyes, Zepp dehumanized everyone in different ways, and at least a weapon was something people respected -- even if that respect stemmed from fear.

Today was the culmination of six years of hard work on the military's end, attempting to shape a child's mind and body into a weapon of war -- and somehow, it was underwhelming.

Potemkin hadn't done anything yet, and wondered when he was supposed to start fighting. Apparently, he was positioned where he was because there was a concern about A Country trying to defend their territory. Potemkin would be an ideal show of force to make them reconsider advances against Zepp. It was a good idea in theory, but it required A Country to actually make advances, and they didn't seem willing to do that. On some level, that wasn't surprising. Even after two years, they were still recovering from the Crusades, and the mines here hadn't been touched by them in half a century. Letting Zepp tread on them was a practical decision, even though it might wound their pride.

Potemkin would be the last man to complain about that. He _ really _ didn't want to fight. Gabriel had told him time and time again that there was nothing morally wrong with killing in service to your country, but he didn't want blood on his hands. He didn't want to be a weapon.

He spent his entire day doing nothing. Sure, he walked around his base camp a few times, stopped to eat once in a while (he had "a week's rations", but realistically, that was less than three days' rations for him, and that made him anxious), and stared at the treeline for hours on end, but it was _ functionally _ nothing. He never thought he'd miss Zepp, but by the time the sky was pink, he was feeling homesick. Tomorrow would be the first Wednesday in almost six years that he _ wouldn't _ spend training with Gabriel. Potemkin imagined that if Gabriel was here too, he'd probably accuse him of slacking off for taking just a day long "break".

As the sun settled under the treeline, he took one more walk around his campsite. The forest felt more foreboding at this hour, even though he knew he had nothing to fear from it. Trees seemed to disappear into the shadows past a certain point, and even a man a strong and confident as him still had some level of primal fear that told him to stay away from the darkness.

Just as he was about to turn around and call it a night, he heard something crunch twigs behind him. He spun around, half expecting a legitimate threat, but dropped his guard as soon as he saw the source of the noise. It was one of those strange forest creatures he had seen earlier, the type that looked kind of like a dog on stilts with branches for horns. It was different from the ones he'd seen earlier, though. They had been bigger, with brown, spotted fur. This one was shorter and had bold, white fur that almost made it seem like it was glowing compared to its muted backdrop.

Potemkin stared at the creature and the creature stared back. He didn't know enough about animal behavior to say one way or another what it might be thinking.

Potemkin remembered a conversation he had with Gabriel several years ago -- one about his genetics. He was younger and didn't really understand what was meant by "genes", but Gabriel took the time to explain it to him. Every living thing's appearance and a lot of other physical traits were determined by their genes, like their hair color, their eyes, their skin tone, the shape of their nose, the way their earlobes looked, and so on. 

Sometimes these differences were more extreme, in the form of genetic mutations -- things almost never seen in nature. He mentioned, for example, that you could sometimes see birds in Zepp that were pure white when normal members of their species weren't, and that was detrimental because it meant that predators would be able to spot and kill them more easily. Then there were cases like Potemkin's, where the stars had instead aligned to give him incredible strength. Mutations like his were an exception to a rule -- most mutations so extreme resulted in early death. His had saved his life.

Potemkin guessed, based on its coloration and what looked like healed scars, that the animal had either had its fair share of brushes with death. He wondered, if animals could think in such terms, what the creature's kin thought of it. Would they think it was a freak for its appearance, or something to aspire to because it could outrun death in spite of its flaws? He hoped, for its sake, that it wasn't seen the same way he was.

It wasn't long until the creature turned back around and ran off into the forest. Its coat made it stick out against its backdrop, keeping it in Potemkin's view long after one with with typical coloration would have blended with the brush. Potemkin also turned around after he lost sight of the creature, thinking to himself that even if it was also a freak, at least it had freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See [my Tumblr](https://junk-artist.tumblr.com/post/613664686045626368/in-slaves-glory-chapter-7-junkartist-guilty) for notes.


	8. Fine and Dandy

_ March 12, 2177 _

Potemkin couldn't sleep. 

His first night on the ground was so still and silent that it made him too uncomfortable to close his eyes for more than a few minutes at a time. He was so accustomed to Zepp's constant din of background noise at all hours of the day that their absence was strange and alien.

He got up from his bedroll and decided to go outside. The moon was bright tonight and he could see with surprising clarity, despite the time of day. He looked up at the sky and stared in wonder. It was the first time in his life that he had seen the stars like this. In Zepp, there was so much artificial light, even during the night, that it was impossible to see much more than a single star. Out here, he could clearly see the Milky Way's outline, and took a moment to absorb it.

That moment wouldn't last long, however. The still night shattered as Potemkin heard a voice behind him -- one wholly unfamiliar.

"A moonlit night sky

"The soldier looks up in awe

"This he'll remember"

Slowly and nervously, Potemkin turned part way around to see a very unusual man. He was sitting on -- if Potemkin wasn't hallucinating -- a levitating capelet attached to his right shoulder. There was a wooden pipe in his mouth, a monocle in front of one eye, and everything about him felt supernaturally elegant. He didn't seem like the type of person you'd expect to find in the wilderness. His suit was too fine, and there wasn't so much as a speck of dirt on it. His hair, while outrageously long and angled forward, was groomed in a way that made it clear he cared a lot about his appearance, and his facial hair had a similarly slick look to it. He looked at Potemkin in much the same way Gabriel did, and that made him uncomfortable.

"State your name and business," Potemkin said. He tried to control it, but his voice was shaking.

The sharp-dressed man got up and the capelet folded up behind him. He closed the gap between the two of them and bowed with a bent arm. "Slayer," he said. "And you?"

"P-Potemkin."

Slayer straightened up and extended his hand for Potemkin to shake. "It's good to finally meet you, Potemkin," he said.

Potemkin stared at Slayer's hand for a moment, then looked him in the eyes. "I can't shake your hand," he said.

"And why is that?"

"...I might crush it."

Slayer was very amused by his statement and chuckled. "I assure you I'll be just fine. Show some manners and shake my hand."

Both the statement and the situation made Potemkin feel uncomfortable. This _ had _ to be an enemy trap, and in all likelihood, he was playing into it by going along. But at the same time, there was a sense of honesty in Slayer's voice, and he felt he could trust him enough with this one thing.

Potemkin took Slayer's hand (or more accurately, his _ arm_, since Potemkin's hands were so much bigger) and shook it. 

Slayer winced. It wasn't a wince of pain, but surprise. "You certainly have a firm grip!" he said.

"Who are you?" Potemkin asked. It was more out of personal curiosity now than duty or concern for his own safety.

"A friend of a friend, I suppose you could say," Slayer said. "Or more accurately, a _ rival _ of a friend. Unless I'm mistaken, but I _ assume _ you must be Gabriel's apprentice."

"You know Gabriel!?"

"I do indeed. Quite a thorn in my side he was. That man made me botch _ six _ assassination attempts. I would have been furious with him if I wasn't so impressed. It takes a lot to give me trouble, you know."

Potemkin took a moment to put two and two together as best he could. "Do you mean you're here to kill me?" he asked. It was a strange question to ask someone.

"No, no. That whole chapter of my life is water under the bridge," Slayer said dismissively. "I'm retired now, and just here out of curiosity."

"What do you mean 'curiosity'?" Potemkin asked.

"Well, I heard a little while back that Gabriel took an apprentice -- a child prodigy with incredible strength and a build so impressive that some questioned if he was human. There's no one else that could be, and I wasn't going to go to Zepp to meet you in person. That would draw too much unnecessary attention to me -- and the Guild by proxy. I don't want to put a target on their backs because I want to have a little fun. Fortunately, I'm a patient man, and a few years of waiting is a small price to pay."

"...Why were you waiting to see me?"

Slayer's eyes narrowed. "Fight me. I want to see how strong you are for myself."

Potemkin shuddered at the statement. There was an unexpected fire in Slayer's eyes and voice. He was serious. _ Dead _ serious.

"I can't do that," Potemkin said.

"And why not?" Slayer asked. "Unless you count the deer, we're so far from anything that there's no risk of collateral damage, and I'd wager Zepp would rationalize your actions as self-defense."

"That's not it. It's just... I don't want to accidentally kill you."

Slayer gave a deep, hearty laugh. "Kill _ me? _ " he said in amusement. "Potemkin, you're certainly strong, but don't take my lines! If Gabriel couldn't kill me when he was _ trying _ to, I don't think us sparring is going to cause any lasting damage."

The look in Slayer's eyes told Potemkin he was telling the truth. It made him uncomfortable.

"And I'm guessing you'll try to start a fight even if I disagree," Potemkin said.

"Good guess. You're right on the money," Slayer answered. "But it would be easier for both of us if you just said 'yes'."

Potemkin sighed. It was a shaky, anxious sigh. He didn't _ want _ to indulge Slayer, but it seemed to be the only option.

"Alright," he said with a slow nod.

Slayer played with his pipe and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Whenever you're ready," he said.

Potemkin _ wasn't _ ready, but he changed stances regardless. Slayer took a big step back and motioned for him to come forward. Potemkin followed and lunged at Slayer. He slammed his knuckles together a hair away from from Slayer's chest. Everything shook, but Slayer barely budged. He blocked it with his palm, but not in a way one would expect. His hand moved so quickly that it looked like a rotor blade to Potemkin, and it effectively nullified the shockwave. Potemkin was awestruck by it.

He didn't let his mind slip, though. Slayer made no attempt to follow up -- he just gave Potemkin a look that screamed "come on!" without actually saying a word. Potemkin jabbed at Slayer, but Slayer dropped to the ground, avoiding the hit, and swept Potemkin's legs. Potemkin's momentum made him fall flat on his face, blades of grass brushing up against his nose. He pushed himself halfway up from the ground with one hand and made a fist with the other. Instead of aiming for Slayer, he punched the ground -- a move Slayer didn't anticipate. Slayer back hit the ground, but he broke his fall with his elbow. 

Potemkin didn't waste time closing in. He stood up straight, leaped forward, and swung downward with a shout. Slayer rolled sideways and Potemkin's fist connected with the dirt, shaking the ground again and leaving a small crater. As Slayer got to his feet, Potemkin threw a punch in his direction. To Potemkin's surprise, Slayer slipped under his fist and and pulled his arm back, readying a punch so forceful that it seemed to drag Slayer with it.

**"****_Pilebunker!_ ** **"**

Potemkin felt a splitting pain in the center of his chest as he was flung backwards into the treeline. He crashed clean through several trees, losing momentum with each, until one eventually stopped him. He still hit the last with enough force to crack its trunk. Bark scraped Potemkin's back as he slid down and the top of the tree fell over his head. He caught it with one hand just before it hit. His fingers were big enough to wrap halfway around the trunk, and it took no effort on his part to rip it clean off the stump and toss it aside. The trees in front of him that he'd been flung through had already fallen over one another like dominoes.

Potemkin stood up straight. There was sap on his back and a throbbing bruise on his chest. It was the first time in years that anyone or anything other than Gabriel had made him feel pain. He gritted his teeth and looked around for Slayer. He was so deep in the forest now that it was difficult to see anything. Even as bright as it was, the moonlight barely pierced the canopy. His breathing slowed, realizing that if Slayer had pursued him, he could be close by and readying a followup hit.

"I didn't expect that to send you that far!" Slayer called. He was shouting, but his voice was so faint that it was difficult to make out the words. "Don't worry! I'll wait for you to get back over here so we can continue."

Potemkin was surprised, but not ungrateful. Slayer was hard enough to keep up with when he could see what was going on, and fighting in the dark would have felt borderline suicidal. Potemkin hadn't managed to land a single hit on him. It wasn't just that he was fast (though Slayer _ was _ fast), it was like he knew exactly what was going to happen before it did. 

Gabriel often stressed the importance of reading an opponent's intentions through their body language when they sparred, but it was a difficult concept for Potemkin to grasp in the moment. He had only fought one other person who could keep up with him, and because they spent so much time together, reading Gabriel wasn't difficult. Slayer, however, was a different story. His style of fighting was wholly unfamiliar and disorienting.

Potemkin weaved through the woods, jogging steadily to avoid tripping on the uneven ground. Slayer was waiting for him as he emerged from the trees.

"Ready?" Slayer called. 

Potemkin didn't answer verbally. He just took a few steps forward from the treeline and nodded.

That was all the okay Slayer needed. He leapt forward, practically gliding through the air to close distance, and jabbed downward at Potemkin. Potemkin raised his arm in time to guard against it, but he had a feeling that Slayer had expected him to do that. Slayer used his other hand to push off Potemkin and reach the ground more quickly. On impact, he slammed both of his feet and a wave of dark energy erupted from them, spreading up and out. It had enough force to launch Potemkin into the air, and Slayer jumped up in pursuit. Right before another of his punches could connect, Potemkin reached out and grabbed him by the waist, his fingers wrapping all the way around it. It was enough to stun Slayer for a moment, and Potemkin seized the opportunity to fling him at the ground.

Slayer's impact was almost explosive. The shockwave made the trees around them rattle. Potemkin landed uncomfortably, but it left enough time for him to watch Slayer get up and dust his suit off.

"Impressive," he said while adjusting his monocle. "I can see why Gabriel took an interest in you."

Potemkin got ready for Slayer's next attack as he shot forward. To Potemkin's surprise, he disappeared. A split second later, Slayer phased back into reality, less than an arm's length away from him. Slayer pulled his hand back and shot forward like a bullet.

"**Mappa ** ** _Hunch!_ **"

Slayer's aura-encased fist connected with Potemkin's crossed arms. Potemkin's defenses held, but just barely. He was forced back and felt his boots grind into the dirt, leaving skid marks before he stopped.

Slayer wouldn't relent. He swayed and readied a followup punch to close the gap.

"**_Pilebunk_ **\--!"

Slayer's fist crashed into Potemkin's arm. This time, Potemkin's defenses held easily. He barely budged, forcing his feet into the ground to make sure he didn't slide again. Slayer seemed completely undeterred by this, pulling his fist back almost instantly and using the momentum from that to throw a hook with his other hand.

Potemkin was ready for him. Instead of blocking again, he pulled his feet out of the dirt and pushed himself backwards with a short hop. Slayer's attack whiffed, leaving him prone for a fraction of a second. Potemkin reached out and grabbed Slayer with both hands, clamping down on both his legs and shoulders. Slayer tried to shake him off, but submitted. Potemkin hoisted him over his shoulders so that Slayer's back was pressed to his shoulders and jumped. He hit the ground with enough force to make his knees buckle, slamming Slayer's spine into his back. Slayer didn't make a sound, but gritted his teeth. Potemkin tossed him to the side.

Slayer, perhaps unsurprisingly, was back on his feet almost immediately. He pressed a palm to his back and straightened it out. "Aah, that takes me back!" He grinned, his teeth still clenched on his pipe. "That's one of Gabriel's forty-eight submission techniques isn't it? He must really trust you if he taught you it. Did he ever tell you about how he tried to kill me with it?"

"He's um... he's never actually mentioned you," Potemkin said.

"That dog! And here I was thinking we had something special," Slayer said. "Just so you know, he broke my spine with that once. Didn't cause any lasting damage, of course, but it was really something." Slayer took his pipe out of his mouth and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "I think it might suit you even better than him. Those arms of yours give you some incredible reach! Have you ever considered naming your attacks before? For personalization, I mean."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You know, like 'Mappa Hunch' or 'Helter Skelter'. It's very _ en vogue _ right now. What do you think about 'Bunker Buster'? Oh! I've got it!" Slayer snapped his fingers. "'Potemkin Buster'!"

"You don't think that sounds a little... vain?" Potemkin asked.

"Not at all! Your name has a great ring to it. It sounds strong, like something that _ should _ be shouted.

"But anyway..." Slayer paused to stretch his neck. "You can stop holding back now. I want to see what you can _ really _ do!"

Potemkin was taken aback by the comment, and wordlessly stuttered in response.

"What, you didn't think I'd notice?" Slayer said. "I've been around the block a few times, and I know I can expect better than that from someone Gabriel taught. So come on, show me what you've got!"

"I-I can't," Potemkin said.

"Don't give me that 'I can't' stuff again. We've already been over this."

"No, I mean, I _ can't_."

One of Slayer's eyebrows rose. "And what do you mean by that?"

Potemkin pulled his neck back and pointed to his collar. "This is supposed to keep my strength in check. If I try to take it off, it'll explode and kill me."

"You don't actually _ believe _ that, do you?" Slayer said. "You can block my punches without breaking your arms in the process. I doubt any explosive they can shove in something that big is going to leave a mark."

"Even _ if _ I survive, Zepp would still execute me for desertion."

Slayer frowned. He was unfortunately familiar with how Zepp chose to keep its soldiers in line. It was barbaric, but it _ did _ work. He just wished it hadn't been connected to Potemkin's strength like this, though it made him _ really _ curious what he was capable of. He just assumed that Potemkin had been pulling his punches the manual way before. The thought of something artificial helping out never crossed his mind. He wasn't strong enough that Slayer felt like he had to exert himself -- or anything close to it -- but he _ was _ impressive, even while restricted, and that left him longing for more.

"Well, that _ is _ disappointing," Slayer said with a sigh. He took his pipe out of his mouth and twirled it around a few times. "I suppose I'll just have to wait until a later date to see what you're capable of. I hate to cut this so short, but I didn't even tell my wife where I was going, and I guess this is as good a time as ever to stop if you can't show me more. Give Gabriel my regards, won't you?"

Slayer flung his arm out. His capelet detached and hovered at his side, rippling in the nighttime breeze.

"I-I will," Potemkin said. He wasn't sure how to react to Slayer's sudden change of heart.

"Oh, and one more thing before I leave," Slayer said. "One of these days, you're going to have to take that collar off. You can't keep holding back forever."

Potemkin silently stared at Slayer. Slayer looked him in the eyes for a moment like he expected a verbal response, but dropped it. He slid partway into his cape, leaving just his head and one arm poking out. Slayer waved goodbye to Potemkin.

"_Sayonara_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See [my Tumblr](https://junk-artist.tumblr.com/post/613664821080129536/in-slaves-glory-chapter-8-junkartist-guilty) for notes.


	9. Where Loyalties Lie

_ May 18, 2177 _

"Heavenly...

_ Potemkin... _

"**_BUSTER!_**"

Gabriel's teeth clenched as his back slammed into Potemkin's shoulders. It didn't _ hurt_, but the impact was sudden and uncomfortable. If Gabriel had been an ordinary man, his spine would have been pulverized by the impact. Fortunately for Gabriel, he was anything but ordinary.

Potemkin tossed him aside like a ragdoll, but Gabriel broke his own fall with ease and pushed himself to his feet in the same motion. There were marks on his uniform in the shape of Potemkin's massive hands.

"I have to say, I'm impressed. I wouldn't have thought to use that technique while airborne," Gabriel said. "It's definitely not like you to call your attacks, though. What gave you the idea?"

Potemkin's eyes widened for half a second. "Sir, do you know a man named Slayer?" he asked.

Gabriel brought a finger to his chin. "You _ met _ him?" he said in disbelief.

Today was Potemkin's second day back in Zepp after almost three months of being in the field. During his time away, he was allowed absolutely no communication with Gabriel. If he had, he would have brought this up sooner. It seemed so long ago that it slipped his mind earlier.

The conditions he experienced as a soldier were hellish compared to what he experienced in Zepp. As long as he was on sovereign soil (if it could be called that), he was treated decently. Potemkin was considered an important asset to the military, and it granted him certain privileges that he didn't have on the ground, where supplies were thin and no one could afford to cater to him. On top of that, no one wanted to rub him the wrong way in Zepp -- not even most authority figures. Even though that stemmed from fear, it was better than being carted along under the threat of having a bomb around his neck detonated.

Potemkin wasn't even allowed to _ sleep _ without that damn thing on. Granted, in his case, there were valid safety concerns relating to that, but he knew the same held true for other slave-soldiers. If there was ever a point where their collars were removed, they would probably seize the opportunity and try to escape. Potemkin _ constantly _ had that temptation, but restrained himself. After a certain point, he stopped caring about whether or not the collar or Zepp itself would kill him. The one thing that kept him in line was a personal loyalty to Gabriel.

Gabriel was the _ only _ person he knew who understood and didn't reject him. The desire to not be alone was a powerful thing -- powerful enough to keep Potemkin clinging to sanity. Slayer was the closest thing to another person like that, but Potemkin both didn't know him and didn't think he could trust him. Slayer was largely an enigma, but he'd gleaned enough from their brief encounter to know Slayer was a criminal. Retired or otherwise, he didn't think he could ever confide in someone who killed for a living.

But then again, Gabriel was a soldier. That was his job too.

"I met a man who called himself Slayer the first day I was deployed," Potemkin clarified. "He wanted to fight me and I knew he wouldn't go away if I refused, so I agreed. He said he knew you and told me to give you his regards when I saw you again."

"So I see," Gabriel said with a nod. "Did he say anything else?"

"That he was an assassin and that I should name my attacks."

There was one other detail Potemkin was leaving out: that part about having to take off his collar at some point. He wasn't wearing it right now and it felt good to have Zepp's cool air running over his neck. His skin was dark, but there was still a noticeable tan line that showed where the contraption had been. He knew this wasn't what Slayer meant, though.

Potemkin was given permission to take it off when he was under Gabriel's supervision and in private, but not under any other circumstances. For safety reasons, they had to train somewhere about as isolated as it was possible to get on Zepp: an abandoned airship runway. Apparently, it was supposed to be repurposed, but the military set it aside for them. Gabriel said that it was fine for them to do whatever they wanted here -- anything short of accidentally crashing the country. Potemkin had a hard time telling if that was a joke or not.

"I've never met anyone else that strong before," Potemkin said. "Was he... a Gear, sir?" 

That didn't sound quite right rolling off his tongue. He knew that even though Gears could be humanlike, they were distinguished not just by their strength, but their lack of free will. That didn't seem to be the case for Slayer, but he didn't have a better point of reference.

"No, not a Gear. Much worse than a Gear, actually," Gabriel said. "He's a Nightwalker. Informally, they're called 'vampires'."

Potemkin blinked, silently communicating his lack of knowledge.

"They're magical creatures with incredible power. They need to feed on blood to survive and regenerate quickly from most injuries. I wish I could tell you more, but I don't know much beyond that myself."

"And you tried to kill him before?"

"Did he say that?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's true. I actually tried to kill him _ several _ times. He was a stubborn bastard who refused to die." Despite what Gabriel was saying, his expression wasn't one of anger or frustration. No. He was smiling ever so slightly.

"He runs -- or I suppose _ ran _ \-- an organization called the Assassin's Guild," Gabriel continued. "They do a lot more than just murder for hire. They're entrenched in international politics. A Country is basically a puppet state for them, and if you want someone high-profile dead, they're the best in the business. They like to paint themselves as working for the common good by taking out corrupt governments, but far as Zepp is concerned, they're hypocrites and a terrorist organization. 

"When I was younger, Slayer made a few attempts on the Chancellor's life. I was the only person who could best him, and after a point, it practically turned into my job. It was an odd way to get to know someone, but as you can probably tell, Slayer is an odd man. After a certain point, I'm pretty sure he wasn't getting paid to kill the Chancellor -- he just wanted an excuse to fight me. He actually punched me _ off _ Zepp once and followed me to the ground. As soon as I realized what had happened, he was in my face again shouting something like, 'Look, we're in the middle of nowhere! We don't have to hold back anymore!' He's really quite the character. If he wanted to fight you that badly, it's something you can be proud of. It seems to take a lot to make him interested in someone."

Potemkin was only halfway listening. He stared at the horizon past Gabriel. He had never thought about just jumping off the edge before, but now that the idea had been put in his head, he felt confident he could do it. The edge was actually visible from the runway, sloping upward on the horizon. He didn't have a collar on right now. He could just leap off and he'd be free.

Of course, there were two problems with that idea. The first was that he couldn't control his strength without the collar or gauntlets, and that alone crushed any hope of having a better existence on the surface. The second was that Gabriel would stop him. He didn't know that _ for sure_, but it seemed the most likely scenario. Maybe the first reason and the second reason weren't even separate. If Gabriel dragged him back, it might have less to do with his loyalty to Zepp and more to do with not wanting Potemkin to suffer more than he already was.

"Potemkin, are you paying attention?" Gabriel snapped.

"Y-yes, sir!"

"I'm sorry to bore you with my moment of reverie. I know there's no clock out here, but judging by the position of our shadows, we still have at least three hours left," Gabriel said.

"Sir, before we start again, can I ask a question?" Potemkin said.

"You may."

"Have you ever wanted to leave Zepp before?"

Gabriel frowned. He knew _ exactly _ what Potemkin was thinking now.

"No, I haven't." Gabriel folded his arms across his chest. "And I'm not saying that because I don't want you to leave -- though I will stress, you shouldn't try -- I'm saying that because I would never desert my country. Zepp can certainly be miserable sometimes, and I'll say from my own experience that military service on the ground is a deplorable experience, but neither of those things are cause to abandon your country.

"As a soldier, you don't serve Zepp's government, Potemkin -- you serve the people of Zepp. I know it doesn't seem like that right now, but trust me when I say that this country needs someone with your strength. If you're genuinely considering desertion, I promise I'll make no effort to stop you, but remember that your actions will always have more consequences than you intend. If you abandon Zepp, there's a lot more than just your own well-being on the line, and I think you're well aware that you're provided for appreciably here."

Potemkin sighed. He had missed Gabriel while he was away from Zepp. This didn't seem like an element anyone sane would miss, but Potemkin was wise where most people his age weren't -- wise enough to respect others' wisdom. Gabriel always had a point, even if it wasn't one Potemkin wanted to hear.

"So, what will it be?" Gabriel asked.

"...I'm staying with my country, sir," Potemkin said.

"What was that?"

"I said _ I'm staying with my country, sir!_"

Potemkin's voice was so loud that it scared off some of the birds resting on the dilapidated runway. Gabriel unfolded his arms and gave a small smile.

"Good. Now let's put that aside and get back to training."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See [my Tumblr](https://junk-artist.tumblr.com/post/613664889963167744/in-slaves-glory-chapter-9-junkartist-guilty) for notes.


	10. These Hands Were Not Meant to Kill

_ February 5, 2779 _

"Do you have _ any _ idea what you've done!?"

Gabriel slammed his fist on a countertop. The countertop cracked. The room shook. Leon Mining trembled.

Gabriel wasn't supposed to be here. Leon had _ absolutely _ no idea how he got in his lab. That wasn't the problem, though. The real problem was that he had no idea how to get him _ out _. Gabriel wasn't someone you just politely asked to leave on a normal day, much less a situation like this. The only thing Leon had the power to do about this situation was complain to his higher ups, but even that would probably be pointless. Leon was only a mercenary -- Gabriel was such a valuable asset to Zepp that Leon suspected nothing short of treason could get him in serious trouble.

"Mining, you are a _ godless bastard _ and I want you to know that if I had _ any _ say in the matter, you would have been executed years ago!" Gabriel barked. "Do you _ actually _ understand that your actions have consequences, or are you so removed from the outside world that you don't even care?"

Leon Mining didn't say a word. He didn't know what would happen if he just lied and tried to apologize for his mistake, let alone trying to be honest and admit that no, he really didn't care and this mistake was Zepp's problem now.

Gabriel held a scowl for several seconds, waiting for Leon to answer. By that point, it was clear it wasn't going to happen. Gabriel silently turned around and straightened his coat.

"Fortunately for Zepp, Potemkin should be able to make short work of this problem," he said. "I can only hope your superiors will do the same for you."

The problem was making short work of Potemkin.

A small, rectangular forcefield projected by his gauntlets was literally the only thing between him and a magic death ray. Potemkin gripped the edges of the forcefield and tried to hold it steady. His legs shook under the strain, and the rest of him did too as he watched cracks form in the forcefield. The beam of energy pierced and shattered it, slamming Potemkin in the chest and shoving him into the wall of a nearby base. It stopped him, but he hit it with so much force that part of the roof collapsed on his head.

Potemkin groaned, less in pain and more in displeasure. He pushed several slabs of concrete off his head. Chunks of snow and debris were dislodged from them and found a new home in his hair. Potemkin got up and tried to dust himself off.

It was snowing. Large, fluffy chunks fell gently on a makeshift battlefield. With no shirt to speak of (it was a little past 0630, and this incident had just woken him up), Potemkin wasn't dressed for the weather. If he held still for more than a second, his teeth chattered. About half a kilometer west, the ground was snow-free. It stopped abruptly where Zepp's shadow began.

Zepp had been hovering in place for a few months. The chunk of A Country it was flying over was near their west coast and sparsely inhabited. As usual, A Country tried to avoid making advances on Zepp, but Zepp still needed people on the ground in some capacity to make sure its temporary borders were secure. Potemkin was ideal for deterrence. If anything happened, they would just send him out from the base to take care of it by himself. One person neutralizing a threat would make Zepp seem like more than a force to be reckoned with. If a single soldier could stop an opposing army, what hope would another nation have against _ Zepp's _ army?

However, that never happened. In fact, even after almost a year, Zepp hadn't really needed Potemkin's services until this exact moment, and it wasn't another country that was a problem -- it was a Gear.

The monster was unlike anything Potemkin had ever seen before. He had never encountered a Gear before in person, but he'd seen pictures and footage of them in the past. Each and every one was unique, and this one was downright grotesque. Its skin was milky white and it had a large humanoid face in the center of a roughly spherical torso. The face itself was upside down, its eyes closed and its mouth wasn't where it was supposed to be, despite a clearly-defined chin. Beneath the face was a slit that went all the way across its midsection. When it opened, it revealed a mouth of jagged teeth. That's where it fired energy from. Branching off from its body were three sets of enormous hands, two of which were splayed out and used like feet. The last was vaguely where hands were expected to be. Jutting out from its backside was something that resembled a tail from a distance, but up close, they looked more like legs and feet fused together into something resembling a tailfin.

Gears were beings that a lot of people spoke about, but when they did, their voices were often hushed. They were the cause of a century-long Crusade for human survival that only ended four years ago. Zepp, being completely airborne, was never directly involved in the conflict, but that didn't mean the country lacked healthy paranoia about them.

Potemkin knew two things for certain about Gears. The first was that they were artificially mutated animals. People did something to alter normal living things to turn them into Gears. Every individual reacted differently to the process and that was why they had such diverse appearances. Some almost looked human. The second thing was that they were incredibly powerful, and their power stemmed from a natural control of magic. On several occasions, when Gabriel had tried to talk up Potemkin, he'd boasted to other officers that Potemkin would make short work of a Gear if he ever had to fight one. Now that it was actually happening, he was having trouble living up to Gabriel's expectations.

It wasn't that he didn't think he could do it. He was keeping pace just fine. The problem was that every time he was about to throw a punch, he thought of the noises the creature made. Some of them sounded like sobbing. Others sounded like half-formed words. It made him hesitate.

The Gear, however, did not hesitate. About as soon as Potemkin got up, it fired another beam from its mouth, this time angled a little more than ninety degrees away from him and sweeping in a wide arc. It annihilated a large chunk of what was left of the building until the beam swung into Potemkin's wrist. He wasn't going to let it go any further. The Gear relented and decided to change strategies. It charged forward, moving like a person crawling on all fours, and tackled Potemkin.

Potemkin was pinned, but had enough leverage to hold the Gear away from him. His head twisted to the side as its enormous mouth nearly pressed against his chest. He could feel it breathing. He could hear air hiss between its teeth. Potemkin repositioned one of his hands so that it covered the Gear's face. He engaged his gauntlet and fired off a series of explosive rounds. Metal casings rained down on Potemkin's face, but he shrugged off the actual explosion. The Gear made the most disturbing sound he'd ever heard -- something between a pained wail, a sob, and garbled speech. It made him lose focus for a moment, and the Gear took advantage of his weakness to pin him in a more uncomfortable position. He could feel its breathing get warmer. It was going to fire another beam at him, this time at point blank. Potemkin's face scrunched, anticipating the impact.

There was a loud noise, but Potemkin didn't feel anything. The noise didn't come from the Gear. It was somewhere off in the distance, and sounded like something crashing into the ground. The Gear moved, giving Potemkin just enough breathing room to look over. It wanted to see what was going on too.

Gabriel stood up from a shallow impact crater. His uniform was wet now and snowflakes peppered his mustache, but he paid neither any mind. He didn't expect the situation with the Gear to get this far out of hand, and he wasn't going to wait for transportation to the surface. It was faster to jump and sort things out once he hit the ground. Fortunately on his end, he managed to land a lot closer to the target than he expected.

He looked at the Gear, he looked at Potemkin, and he looked at the ruined building. There were bloodstains sprinkled lightly on the snow-covered debris, and he could see an arm sticking up from the wreckage. It was horribly mangled, with snapped bone visible between its wrist and elbow.

Gabriel trusted Potemkin to be able to handle this situation. On almost every occasion, Potemkin managed to surpass Gabriel's expectations for him. Today was not one of those days. Potemkin had fallen so short of what he had expected that it shook him to his core. The only thing keeping him from snapping was that there was work to be done.

"Potemkin!" he called. "Throw the Gear in the air!"

Potemkin did as he was told. He took advantage of the Gear's momentary shock and pushed it so hard that he launched it skyward. Gabriel closed his hand into a fist. He pulled it back, then punched the air, aiming for the Gear. A shockwave erupted from his fist, slamming into its target. There was a sound like thunder. Potemkin closed his eyes and shielded his face as chunks of the Gear rained down on him.

Potemkin rolled over, burying part of his body in the snow and rubbing against it in an attempt to get the gore off. It smelled rancid and made him feel nauseous.

"Potemkin! Get up!" Gabriel shouted. "Come over here!"

Potemkin obeyed and pushed himself to his feet. Pieces of the Gear dripped off his chest and arms. He held back an urge to bite his lip for fear of tasting something he didn't want to. Stiffly, he walked over to Gabriel.

Gabriel looked up at Potemkin, but the look on his face made it feel like he was looking down. "Tell me what just happened," he said.

Potemkin swallowed. It was behind him, but he had a clear mental image of the ruined building. He couldn't lie to Gabriel. His conscience wouldn't let him.

"S-sir..." Potemkin stuttered. "I just... I couldn't."

"You couldn't _ what?_" Gabriel said. "You were the _ only person _ here who could have dispatched that thing."

"I couldn't kill it."

"And why not?"

"Because it was _ human!_" Potemkin shouted. His voice trembled with stress. "No one _ ever _ told me Gears were humans!"

Gabriel sighed. He looked away from Potemkin. "That has _ nothing _ to do with your duty. If a human ever attacks Zepp in the same manner, unless you are _ specifically _ ordered otherwise, you _ need _ to execute them."

Potemkin looked down at his hands. They were shaking, and it wasn't from the cold. "I-I... I can't just take someone's life like that..."

"Potemkin, look me in the eyes," Gabriel said. As always, Potemkin was obedient, if mentally reluctant. "You're a soldier. Your job is to weigh the lives of your enemies against the lives of your comrades and your people. Soldiers kill so that innocent people don't have to die -- and that Gear was _ not _ innocent."

Potemkin turned his head just enough to look back at the wreckage. He saw the arm sticking out of it and felt his gut drop.

"Don't get the wrong impression. I'm not blaming anyone's death on your inaction," Gabriel said. "This on Mining's head for creating that abomination in the first place. There's no innocent blood on your hands. If anything, it's a lucky coincidence that you were here when this happened. If you hadn't, this would have been even more of a disaster than it was, but I know you well enough to say that you could have done better."

"Sir, I... the _ screams_." Potemkin stuttered. His voice got quiet. "_I'm sorry_."

Gabriel clapped a hand on Potemkin's shoulder, something he wouldn't have done if he wasn't wearing gloves. "I know. I've been in this situation before and felt the same way. Everyone -- everyone _ sane _ \-- has to experience it at least once to truly serve their country. But you need to learn that you _ cannot _ hold back like this in the line of duty. You may have had the upper hand this time, but you need to remember there are plenty of things in this world stronger than you. A moment's hesitation can and _ will _ get you killed -- and if you die, what will happen to your allies? To the country you've sworn to protect?"

Those were heavy questions -- questions Potemkin didn't have an answer to. He wanted to speak, but words wouldn't come out. His throat was too tense.

"I'm saying this to you because I don't want it to happen again. Do you understand?"

"Y... yes, sir," Potemkin choked out.

Gabriel didn't tell Potemkin to speak up like he was expecting. He stayed perfectly silent. Snow fell on Gabriel's hat and Potemkin's head. The cold made Potemkin shiver.

"I have nothing more to say. I'll see you again when you're recalled to Zepp."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See [my Tumblr](https://junk-artist.tumblr.com/post/613664970423599104/in-slaves-glory-chapter-10-junkartist) for notes.


	11. His Eyes are Filled with HOPE

_ April 2, 2180 _

Ky Kiske couldn't believe what he was seeing.

His opponent was unlike any man he'd ever seen before. Standing this close to him made Ky feel small. It wasn't _ just _ that he was tall -- every part of him, except maybe his head, was enormous. To say he had a powerful build was an understatement. His lack of a shirt put every muscle in his upper body on full display, each so chiseled that they almost looked like stone. His shoulders alone were bigger than Ky's head and his arms were nearly the length of his body. Just one of the giant's fingers was almost as thick as his arm. There was so much weight to his movement that Ky thought he could feel the ground tremble. 

The massive collar around his neck and the barcode on his right shoulder told a story -- one that dashed Ky's gut assumption that he was a Gear rather than human. Those were traits only Zeppian slave-soldiers had. 

Potemkin couldn't believe what he was seeing.

That was Ky Kiske. _ The _ Ky Kiske. The leader of the Sacred Order of Holy Knights who put an end to the Crusades five years ago. Potemkin had only ever seen him in pictures, but he was unmistakable. The only difference between then and now was how he had aged since then. Even though the Order had since disbanded, he was still wearing their uniform -- a white uniform and jacket with blue highlights. The word "HOPE" was etched into his belt. He had short blonde hair and eyes that were somehow simultaneously soft and like steel. With his right hand, he brandished his sword -- the Thunderseal -- and pointed it at Potemkin.

Ky's eyes darted up and down Potemkin's body, examining him thoroughly. He lowered his sword and raised his head as he said, "My God, what did they _ do _ to you?"

At first, Potemkin thought Ky was talking about his enslavement, but he quickly realized he had to be talking about his appearance.

"No one's done anything to me. This is just the way I am," Potemkin answered. 

It had been a few years since he last felt an inkling of self-consciousness about his appearance. Gabriel had been right all of those years ago -- it _ was _ something he'd get over eventually. Over time, his mind had hardened just as much as his body. Now people's gawking didn't hurt him any more than bullets.

"So I see," Ky said. He wasn't sure if he believed that, but the man's demeanor washed away any suspicion that he was some kind of monster. "Before anything else, let me introduce myself. I am Ky Kiske of the International Police Force." Ky put his fist on his chest as a sort of salute.

"I know you are, sir," Potemkin said. "My name is Potemkin. I fight for Zepp."

Ky looked up at Potemkin and stared him in the eyes. "Potemkin, I have no desire to harm someone forced to fight against their will," he said. "Please, surrender this fight to me."

"I can't afford to surrender," Potemkin said. "But I'll also ask you to step down. I don't want to hurt a hero."

The confidence in Potemkin's warning took Ky by surprise. "I'm afraid I can't afford to either," he said. Ky's eyes flashed into a cold stare as he readied his sword. "Potemkin... prepare yourself."

Potemkin wished he could say he had always been ready, but he would have been lying if he did.

Today had been a strange day for him. About a month ago, an announcement was made to the world: the seal binding Justice, the Gear responsible for attempting to destroy humanity during the Crusades, was coming undone. There would be an international tournament held to find worthy warriors for a second Sacred Order of Holy Knights. There were no rules for the fights other than outside interference being forbidden and no qualifications for entry -- even wanted criminals could participate if they chose. On top of that, whoever won the tournament itself would be granted any one wish. It sounded too good to be true, but given how many nations were supporting it, it might just be real.

Zepp had no interest in involving itself in a second Crusade, and certainly didn't want someone as valuable as Potemkin running off to be a Knight. No, he was here for a completely different reason. That part about a wish for the winner was tantalizing. If they were _ actually _ granted any one wish, they could use it to have other nations cede territory to them without a need for war.

Potemkin had been selected to represent Zepp. He initially wondered why they didn't just send Gabriel, but apparently, Gabriel had both recommended him and had utmost faith that he would win. It was a lot of weight on his shoulders, but so far, it was paying off. There were only four contestants left now: Ky Kiske, himself, a mysterious man calling himself Sol Badguy (a name so absurd that Potemkin could only suspect it was an alias), and Kliff Undersn, a former leader of the Holy Knights that Ky had succeeded.

So far, Potemkin hadn't been pressed much. Maybe it was an issue with how pairings were done, there hadn't been a situation yet where he felt like he needed anything close to his full strength. Most of his early opponents had been incapacitated with one hit and his last opponent was the closest thing he'd had to trouble. She was just a girl, but she had incredible strength -- strength enough to swing an anchor around as a weapon. He wondered what compelled her to use something like it, but she was too afraid of him to be open to conversation. She also didn't take long to dispatch.

He never once thought he'd be paired to Ky Kiske, though. It didn't even make sense to him that someone who was the leader of the last Sacred Order would have to compete, but he didn't know much beyond his briefing. Ky's strength was legendary, and if there was a worthy opponent in this entire tournament, it was probably him. Even though Potemkin spoke with confidence earlier, seeming assured that he would win, he was having trouble convincing himself now that it was actually going to happen. 

Potemkin matched Ky's stance and said, "I'm ready."

Ky bent his knees and made the first move. Too far away to hit Potemkin, he swiped his sword at the air. 

"_ Stun Edge!_"

Sparks of electricity jumped down the blade and erupted from the tip in an arc. Potemkin guarded against it, stopping it from hitting his chest. The sparks stung, but it didn't do much more than make him flinch. That was all Ky needed it to do, though. He bounded forward and slashed horizontally at Potemkin. Again, Potemkin blocked it, this time using the base of one of his gauntlets instead of his bare skin. Ky's sword grinded against its metal. Both of them squinted as sparks flew. Potemkin shifted his arm to slide the Thunderseal up his gauntlet and gain leverage. Once he did, he pushed it back, throwing Ky off balance for a moment.

Potemkin took his opening. He flattened his fingers and chopped at Ky's shoulder. Ky caught himself and managed to swing his sword up just in time to block Potemkin's attack. His forearm connected with the broad side of the Thunderseal. Ky put his left hand on the opposite side of the blade and shoved Potemkin away.

Potemkin couldn't believe how strong Ky was. He didn't think anyone -- sans Gabriel or Slayer -- would be able to push him off like that. On top of that, he was so fast that even landing a hit on him wouldn't be easy. The best option was probably to stay close and keep up the pressure until he saw a fault in Ky's defenses.

Ky couldn't believe how strong Potemkin was. The amount of force he felt on his blade was incredible -- he wouldn't even expect that from most Gears. If he was going to win, he couldn't afford to get reckless. If that attack had connected, it would have _ hurt _. It was best for him to stay as far out of Potemkin's melee range as possible and stick to striking with his sword. That would be easier said than done, though -- Potemkin's arms were longer than the Thunderseal.

Though Ky recovered more quickly, Potemkin made the next move. He jumped forward, putting his fists together as he swung down over Ky's head. Ky took a step back crouched before Potemkin could make contact. He slashed practically from floor to ceiling (not that the arena _ had _ a ceiling) with his sword. Potemkin felt a searing pain down and up his chest, shouting as the Thunderseal pierced his skin. Just before he hit the ground, he pulled his hands back and felt the wound. The sword hadn't gone very deep and only a trickle of blood dripped from it, but the pain was downright searing. He gritted his teeth as he pushed himself up.

Ky was an honorable man, but he knew the value of kicking someone while they were down all too well. Lightning surged through his blade as he swung it in a low arc. The sword slashed Potemkin's jeans and the discharge of electricity made it a struggle to get back on his feet, but somehow, he managed. Ky didn't relent. He charged forward only to smack into the back of Potemkin's hand. Potemkin followed up with a sweep, knocking Ky face first into the ground. 

Ky groaned, but sprung up quickly enough to avoid another blow from Potemkin. He leaped backwards into the air and readied his sword. A static sound roared from the Thunderseal as Ky swung it downward, shouting "_Stun Edge! _"

Potemkin was ready. He stuck his arm out and flicked the air. The shockwave sounded like a gunshot and struck the arc of magical lightning, overcoming it. Ky fell into its path and wasn't able to defend himself. Its sheer force sent him flying backwards into one of the arena's walls. Potemkin didn't waste time pursuing him, closing the gap in a single leap forward. He stopped hard and slammed his shoulder into Ky's chest. Ky shouted. The wall cracked. The Thunderseal dropped.

Ky slid down the wall, but Potemkin stopped him before he hit the ground. Potemkin slammed his open palm into Ky's chest. Blood dripped from Ky's nose. Sweat dripped from Potemkin's brow. The wall nearly broke.

"I don't want to do this to you," Potemkin said. "Please, just surrender."

"I already told you, I _ can't_," Ky choked.

Potemkin engaged his gauntlet while Ky was still speaking. "If I don't win, then--" 

Ky's words warped into a shout of pain and were muffled by the sound of small explosives. The fire stopped abruptly. Ky's eyes were shut. He clenched his teeth. He was in pain, but he clearly wasn't anywhere close to giving up. The explosives had torn his clothing, but the flesh underneath it was only bruised. Potemkin's gauntlets came to life again and charged a second attack.

"_ Heat..._"

Ky bit his lower lip. An aura of blue lightning pulsed across his body.

"** _Exte--_**!"

Potemkin's was blown back by a spherical burst of magic. He stopped himself short by planting one of his hands in the ground. A trail of dirt stood between him and his opponent. The wall behind Ky crumbled as he reached down and grabbed the Thunderseal. Ky dashed in, stopped short, and jabbed. Potemkin hopped back, narrowly avoiding it. Ky anticipated the move and quickly retracted his sword. He leaped into the air with a somersault. His sword strobed green and blue with magic, circling him as he brought the blade down on Potemkin.

"_Greed Sever!_"

Potemkin clapped his hands together on Ky's sword, stopping it in its tracks. The magic seared his palms, but he couldn't let it continue its arc. To his surprise, though, Ky let go of the Thunderseal while Potemkin was still holding it. He dropped to the ground and slid into Potemkin's legs. It was enough to make Potemkin lose his balance. He fell backwards and dropped the Thunderseal. Ky snatched it out of the air and hopped onto Potemkin's chest before he could get up, awkwardly planting his other foot on the ground. He pointed his sword at Potemkin's nose.

"Potemkin, you're one of the most formidable opponents I've ever fought," Ky said. He was panting at this point, but still had more than enough will to fight. "I don't want to hurt you any more than I already have, but I will if I must. I'll give you one more chance to stop."

Potemkin knew he couldn't keep fighting Ky this way. They were too even, able to match one another blow for blow and persevere through the worst they could throw at one another. If they kept fighting like this, odds were good that whoever came out on top wouldn't be in any condition to move on to the next round anyway.

In the heat of the moment, Potemkin remembered something he had been told years ago -- that he couldn't keep wearing his collar forever. He didn't know if this was the situation Slayer had warned him about, but it didn't feel like he had much of a choice. Problem was, despite the circumstances, he hadn't been given permission to remove his limiters during the tournament. In Zepp's eyes, giving him that permission risked treason -- and they had every reason to suspect he would commit it. He thought back to that night with Slayer and how he'd been ridiculed for believing the collar would kill him. There was no way to know what would happen. Not with any degree of certainty. For all he knew, he could kill not just himself, but Ky too. But his gut told him it would be fine for both of them, and he decided to trust his gut.

With Ky still on top of him, Potemkin reached for his collar. His fingers hooked its edges. Pulling it off was the only way he could do it.

Ky's eyes widened as he realized what Potemkin was doing. "_No!_" he shouted. "I _ won't _ let you kill yourself!"

"I'm not trying to kill myself," Potemkin said. His words were strained because of Ky's foot on his diaphragm. "It's supposed to restrain my strength, but I can't afford to keep holding back against you."

"_My God..._" Ky said. He never would have imagined Potemkin was being held back the entire time. He'd also been restraining himself somewhat -- trying to make sure he didn't draw mortal blood -- but he had a feeling this was far beyond that.

"You mean it won't actually explode?" Ky asked.

Potemkin's heart skipped a beat at the question. He looked away from Ky. His fingers loosened.

"...You don't actually know, do you?" Ky said.

"No, I don't," Potemkin answered.

"Then why take that risk? What are you even fighting for that's so important you'd risk death for it?"

Potemkin didn't have a good answer for that. The closest thing he could think of was that it was better for his country to claim territory without bloodshed, but what would that _ really _ accomplish? More than likely, the government just wanted something beneficial to the military, not anything like access to natural resources that would enrich the lives of its people. For three years, he'd accepted that his duty as a soldier meant obeying orders without question, but he realized the only reason he could do that was because he had stopped asking questions -- and no one ever asked him questions either.

"Nothing. I'm fighting for nothing," Potemkin said. Ky was taken aback by the statement. Potemkin took his hand off his collar. His tensed muscles relaxed. Ky took some weight off Potemkin and drew his sword back ever so slightly.

"What are _ you _ fighting for?" Potemkin asked.

There was a moment's pause before Ky asked, "...Are you wiretapped?"

"I can't disclose that," Potemkin said.

Ky took that as a yes. He huffed, releasing tension. At this point in the tournament, it probably didn't matter. Zepp would know soon enough anyway.

"This tournament isn't to select Holy Knights. It's all a front," Ky said.

Potemkin tensed. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"It's to select a sacrifice to revive Justice."

"J-_Justice?_" Potemkin needed a moment to process that, but he didn't get one.

Ky nodded. "The whole point of the tournament was to draw out someone with powerful magic who can be used as a human sacrifice. You might be strong, but you don't fit that bill. Even if you somehow manage to win, I imagine they'll just dispose of you and use a runner up instead."

It was a lot for Potemkin to take in. Everything Ky said lead to more questions than answers.

"Won't you just be killed if you win, then?" Potemkin asked.

"I'm ready for this," Ky said. "I've sealed Justice away once before. If her seals haven't completely broken, I know I can do it again."

"How can I trust you?"

Ky chewed on that question for a moment before giving the only answer he could.

"You can't. I can only give you my word, and I suppose that's not very reliable. You're a Zeppian soldier and I'm an Interpol officer. I obviously have every reason to make up lies, especially since I'm not sure if I could handle you if you've actually been holding back this entire time. But I ask you to look me in the eyes and tell me I'm lying."

Potemkin looked at Ky. Ky looked at Potemkin. Potemkin couldn't see a hint of insincerity.

"...I believe you. I'll surrender."

Ky sheathed his sword and got off Potemkin. Potemkin stood up. Now that the stress was evaporating, his wounds began to hurt. Judging by Ky's expression, the same thing was happening to him.

"You're a good man, Potemkin," Ky said. He gave a soft smile, one with gentle eyes that embodied the word on his belt. "Once this tournament is over, I could offer you asylum. I don't know what you've been through, but I've heard horror stories about how Zepp treats its soldiers."

"I can't accept that," Potemkin said. "I might be a slave, but my loyalties will always lie with Zepp."

Ky gave a painful sigh. That wasn't the answer he wanted or expected to hear.

"I understand the situation," Ky said. "At least let me wish you a safe journey home, Potemkin. Leave the rest to me."

Ky Kiske's eyes were sorrowful as he turned around. He had won the battle, but also felt he'd lost a friend he never really knew. There was a part of Potemkin wanted to stop him and shout that he'd changed his mind, but he knew he couldn't. As miserable as Zepp was, it was all he had ever known, and that alone made it impossible to give up. It would be hard to continue as a soldier after their conversation, but he somehow, he always managed to persevere. This time wouldn't be any different.

Ky Kiske exited the arena as the winner. Potemkin knew something important was about to happen, but it wasn't his place to interfere. It was a story he wasn't the hero of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See [my Tumblr](https://junk-artist.tumblr.com/post/613665044921778176/in-slaves-glory-chapter-11-junkartist) for notes.


	12. These Chains Could not Hold Forever

_ April 3, 2180 _

"Gabriel, are you sure it's okay for him to have his collar off?"

Potemkin anxiously ran his fingers down his bare neck. He looked at the officer, who stared back in discomfort.

"It's fine," Gabriel said. "He's a free man now. Let him enjoy it."

Everything had happened so quickly. The tournament had ended yesterday, and while he didn't know what the final result was for Ky yet, he was picked up the next day. He expected to be greeted by low-ranking officers and carted back to Zepp, but that wasn't what happened. Gabriel approached him and told that he needed to do something else for Zepp. They had an argument -- he was done fighting. Enough was enough. Even though he felt sick doing it, he shouted at Gabriel. Gabriel stayed stoic and told him he wasn't talking about the military. He told Potemkin could take his collar off.

It felt like something out of a dream. Gabriel explained that he had spent years organizing a military coup. The situation with Justice and the tournament was throwing the government into disarray, even though Ky or whoever had apparently resolved the situation. There might not be a better time to strike.

Gabriel said that Zepp used to be a different kind of place. There was a point in time when slavery was considered barbaric, when people weren't conscripted against their will, and its supplies were properly managed. As much as he loved his country, he _ always _ hated its government and how they sat idly by, never considering the welfare of its people and controlling them with fear. It wasn't something he could hope to change from the inside, and igniting revolution would be suicidal due to the country's dependence on existing infrastructure to merely stay aloft. There was only one rational way to change the status quo, and that was by _ coup d'état_.

Potemkin sat on two seats that had been pushed together in the middle of a small group of soldiers. They were trying not to look awkwardly at him, but he could feel their collective discomfort. Gabriel stood in front of them and placed a hand on the wall behind him. It sprang to life and displayed a map of Zepp.

"Before we enter Zepp's airspace, it's important for us to go over the full details of this operation one more time, so you all understand your roles," Gabriel said. The entire time he was speaking, his eyes were focused on Potemkin.

"Sir, may I ask a question?" Potemkin said.

"You have every right," Gabriel said. "Just keep in mind that we have fairly limited time."

"Why was I never informed of this?"

Gabriel's nose wrinkled. "To put it bluntly, that would have created an enormous risk to this operation," he said. "Zepp does not trust you and never has. You've shown questionable loyalty to the country for most of your life and your strength has at times proven to be a liability almost as much as an asset. You're valuable to the military, but not to the extent that they would hesitate in executing you if there was any evidence that you were involved in an act of conspiracy. I decided not to inform you for your own safety. Your involvement in this operation was of utmost importance."

Potemkin could see in Gabriel's eyes that it was a lot more than just resourcefulness that inspired his actions, but his professionalism kept him from saying any more.

"Now then," he continued, "early phases of the operation will already be underway by the time we pass over Zepp. Of the 7,000 odd members of Zepp's standing army, approximately 5,000 of them are actively deployed to maintain terrestrial territorial claims while the remaining 2,000 operate within Zepp's borders. The country's largest military base, located starboard of the capital, houses some 500 men and women." Gabriel pointed to the base on the map. "Should everything go according to plan, the vast majority of the personnel should be assisting with the operation.

"By the time we arrive, the entry and exit routes around the city and subway system should be completely blocked off, most major communication systems should be disabled, and a siege of capitol building should be underway. There will be three goals to achieve at that point. One: reenable and take control of the emergency communication system, then announce that we have control over the state. Two: track down significant members of the current government trying to flee and prevent them. Three: maintain the blockades around the city and halt any attempted military intervention.

"One of the major weaknesses in the operation is even though we should be able to effectively neutralize most potential intervention from the stern side of Zepp, there's significant concern about involvement from the Defense Research Center a kilometer dead astern of the capital." 

Gabriel pointed again at the location on the map. Something about that made Potemkin slightly uncomfortable. He lived there.

"Despite attempts, those in charge of the facility have thus far resisted subversion to our cause. The high security makes it practically impossible to penetrate from the outside, and complicating matters is the fact that we have limited intelligence on what threats they could pose. However, considering that we'll be primarily operating in an urban area near important political figures, we can obviously rule out conventional weapons of mass destruction, the use of chemical or biological warfare, or any other widespread, lethal, and indiscriminate method of intervention. 

"Potemkin, this aspect of the operation is where your involvement is of utmost importance."

Potemkin shuddered and straightened his back. He hadn't expected to be addressed so directly. 

Gabriel looked at Potemkin with a cold gaze and said, "The fastest route from the compound to the capital is the starboard quarter entrance to the city that runs through a labor camp. Infantry approach from either the port or port quarter roads are less likely. I need you to hold the line."

"B-by myself?" Potemkin stuttered.

"No. There will be a group of soldiers manning a blockade, but considering the circumstances, I would expect them to be easily outgunned without you. It's a narrow strip of road and only so many people can be positioned there. We don't know what to expect either, and I would rather not take chances."

Potemkin nodded. He was anxious. It was a lot of responsibility to be thrust on him all of a sudden, but at the same time, it wasn't something he was afraid to do. He understood the weight of the situation. It wasn't just something Gabriel wanted. He wanted this too.

"As for the rest of you, you already know your roles. This is to be the only airship over the capital. If you see any other vehicle in that airspace, it's not an ally. Shoot first and ask questions later. Be sure to lure it out of city limits beforehand so it doesn't cause any collateral damage.

"I'll be making the emergency broadcast myself. Immediately after that, I'll rendezvous with the main group at the capitol building to ensure everything is running smoothly and tie up loose ends. We'll be approaching Zepp from the bow and I'll be dropped first over the city, then Potemkin will be dropped into his position.

"With that said, you are all dismissed. Godspeed."

The other soldiers all saluted before they got up and walked off. Potemkin stayed in place. He needed a moment to take everything in and mull it over. When almost everyone else left for another part of the airship, Gabriel walked over.

"I needed to speak with you more," he said.

Potemkin stood up, careful to not damage the chairs. "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to wear your collar for this."

Potemkin's stomach got tight. "But sir, I just--"

"I know. Just listen," Gabriel said. "We don't have any other means of restraining you and I can't afford any mistakes, especially not in an urban area. If you slip up, it can and will delegitimize the entire coup. This will only work if the people of Zepp support us wholeheartedly. Do you understand?"

Potemkin hesitated a moment before answering, "Yes, sir."

"Additionally, wearing your slave collar is important to the operation politically," Gabriel said. "You naturally draw people's attention and you'll be positioned near a labor camp. Your status as a slave-soldier makes you seem less like a faceless tool of the military to others who are enslaved, and we'll need their trust and support if everything goes well."

A lot about that statement made Potemkin feel uncomfortable. He took a moment to carefully consider his words before saying, "You mean you want to use me."

"Potemkin, listen carefully to what I'm about to say." Gabriel looked sternly at Potemkin. "None of what happens today will matter if we don't have the people's support in the aftermath. Public image is everything, and if you're being used, then you're by no means alone. I'm using the other soldiers and I'm using myself especially as well. You are not -- and will _ never _ be -- a tool to me, but for one day, I need you to be a symbol of defiance and revolution."

Potemkin was quiet for a moment, digesting what Gabriel had to say before asking, "You don't think they'll see me as a monster?"

"I won't deny that it's a possibility," Gabriel said. "However, even if they _ do _ think you're a monster, they'll know you're a slave just like them -- another victim of the oppressive machine we call a government. Regardless of how they perceive your appearance, that gives you humanity."

Potemkin stood in silence again. His eyes went around the room and settled on a window. He could see the tops of mountains near the bottom of it.

"I need to ask something important before we go through with this," Potemkin said. "There's no chance of them using the collar against me, is there? Isn't it possible that they could find a way to detonate it?"

Gabriel closed his eyes and shook his head. "That isn't a concern because there was never an explosive in your collar."

"W-_ what!?_"

"At least, not to the best of my knowledge. I only found out recently, so I don't know if there was a point when it had one, but I doubt it," Gabriel said. "Even if there was something they could have used, it probably would have been too dangerous to put around your neck for the sake of anything else in your vicinity. Not that it mattered. Just telling you it would explode was enough."

Potemkin's mind was blank for a moment. He could have just taken it off at any point, then. He probably could have even deserted with it on. There wasn't anything he could think of to say.

"Oh, yes, and one last thing before we arrive," Gabriel said. "Part of the reason you're ideal for this mission is your opposition to using lethal force, but you need to understand something important. As much as I want it to be, this coup is unlikely to be bloodless. If you fail to hold the line and conflict breaks out within city limits, innocent lives _ will _ be lost -- more lives than you would have to take to stop it. I need your word that will _ not _ hold back if the circumstances call for it. You cannot hesitate to get blood on your hands today."

Potemkin swallowed uncomfortably. Gabriel's eyes were piercing, looking past his own eyes and seeing his soul, seeing his fear of himself. And despite his soul wanting to resist, he knew there was only one thing he could answer, and that he had to answer it without a shred of doubt. 

Potemkin steeled himself and said, "You have my word, sir."

"Good." Gabriel could tell he really meant it.

"We'll be arriving over Zepp in approximately five minutes," he continued. "Before I depart, there's something I have to say. Not as your superior officer -- as a person."

Potemkin was surprised by his sudden shift in tone. Gabriel's voice was soft and sombre. His own mood changed in turn, and he took on the same tone as he said, "What is it, sir?"

"There is a very real possibility that this coup will fail. Should that happen, both of us _ will _ be executed for high treason. This may be my only chance to say this to you," Gabriel said.

"I've always been a reserved man. I hold my friends at a distance and a lot of people distrust me out of fear. I made a conscious decision when I was a young man to never be truly intimate with someone, and I've stuck to it ever since. If I had a child, they would inevitably be taken by the state against my will under the pretense that they could have inherited my gift, even if that wasn't the case. You've filled that void for me in a lot of respects. I know I've been harsh at times, and I feel guilty that I couldn't always help you when you needed it, but I need you to know you've always been a lot more important to me than a student or a subordinate.

"So I need your word on one more thing: promise me that you'll make it out of this alive."

Potemkin felt his gut turn over. Gabriel wasn't saying anything Potemkin didn't already know, but give Gabriel's intense professionalism, he doubted he would ever hear anything like this out of his mouth. His throat tightened with emotion.

"I will, sir," Potemkin said softly.

"Potemkin, I can hardly hear you."

"I said I _ will_, sir!"

Gabriel closed his eyes and smiled. A tear welled up in one of his eyes, but never fell. A part of him felt horrible for dragging Potemkin into this -- not just the actual coup, but how he'd helped mould him into who he was today. It was a small miracle the nervous child he'd met nine years ago had grown into such a strong young man, physically _ and _ mentally. He was proud of Potemkin, prouder than words could express, but he couldn't help but question whether or not his actions had been right. He never really had an option, but it seemed to him that had things turned out differently and had he not been born a slave, Potemkin would have made a fine artist. His path had always been chosen for him, and he had no say in the matter. Was this all really okay? What would Potemkin choose do with himself if -- no, _ when _ \-- they won, when he was finally and truly free?

Then again, no one was born a soldier. It was something you had to be forged into -- and as far as Gabriel was concerned, Potemkin was one of the finest soldiers Zepp would ever know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See [my Tumblr](https://junk-artist.tumblr.com/post/613665127892484096/in-slaves-glory-chapter-12-junkartist) for notes.


	13. How Nightmares are DESTROYED

_ April 3, 2180 _

It was a long drop to Zepp's surface.

Potemkin didn't have a parachute. There wasn't really a point in using one -- it would just slow him down. A lot of the time, he was just air dropped into position like this. It was both more convenient and attracted less attention. However, this was the first time he'd ever been dropped onto Zepp itself.

From this altitude, he could literally see half of the country, and as far out as its starboard and port edges. Zepp wasn't that large of a landmass (if it could be called that), so his current height gave him an incredible view. He was rarely given an opportunity to see it from this angle, and it was breathtaking. The entire country was largely divided up into square or otherwise angular plots of land. The edges of all the roads, the fields, and even the forests were straight as a line and well-maintained. Only a few patches of urban sprawl broke the patterns of regularity and conformity. Behind him was the capital city, with its seemingly perfect circular wall surrounding it, with the irregular suburbs giving a sharp contrast. The enormous spire of the capitol building -- its apex nearly a kilometer high -- rose above the rest of it. According to what Potemkin knew, its extreme height was purely for aesthetic purposes, and the important parts of the building were actually underdeck. Ahead of him was the Defense Research Center, covering nearly as much land as the capital city, but spread much thinner. From this height, he could pluck out the exact spot he'd lived in. The courtyard was his indication. It was small, but the tiny splotch of green was unmistakable.

Eventually, Potemkin descended to his destination. The landing didn't feel rough to him -- he hit the ground on two feet and stabilized with one hand -- but the concrete underfoot had a different opinion. What was immediately beneath him was pulverized, and the road several meters around him was fractured. He heard voices from behind as he stood up straight.

"Is that him?" one voice asked.

"It must be, but I've never actually seen him in person," another said.

Potemkin turned around to see a row of armored vehicles with a light sprinkling of tanks behind him, sectioning off a respectable chunk of the road. In front of them was a line of soldiers, probably numbering no more than fifty.

"My name is Potemkin. I was told to provide assistance," he said, saluting them.

Some of the soldiers were anxious. Most had no fear in their eyes. If anything, he seemed to invoke confidence in them. One of the soldiers stepped forward. His distinct dress signified a superior rank.

"It's good to have you with us, soldier," he said.

There was a lot more on the officer's mind than that. He'd heard a lot about Potemkin's strength -- most soldiers had. There were always rumors swirling about Zepp's two so-called "super soldiers". Some even made it outside of the military. If what he had heard about Potemkin was even remotely true, allying with him was an enormous boon -- but not one without risk. One of the things he'd heard was that Potemkin had destroyed an entire building during a routine training exercise when he was young, and that he needed special equipment to shackle his strength so nothing like that happened again. There were a lot of different variations on the story and its finer details, but those were the elements that almost always held true. It was cause for paranoia, but not to the extent that he would dismiss much-needed aid because of it.

The group held tight for the better part of fifteen minutes. The silence was piercing. Not one soul spoke. They were too afraid to speak. Every one of them understood the gravity of the situation. What happened today would change the rest of their lives.

After some time passed, they could see something on the horizon. They could hear it too -- the march of footsteps, the rolling of tank treads, and the clang of mechs's feet on concrete.

Somehow, Potemkin had no fear. In fact, he had never felt more confident in his life. Today, he had a purpose. Today, he wanted to fight. He wasn't being forced by his masters to do something he didn't understand the purpose or repercussions of. He was going to fight of his own volition. He was going to fight for his country, for his people, for himself, for Gabriel, and for a dream.

"I'll go ahead," Potemkin said, turning halfway around to face the blockade. "Stay back and hold the line. They might try to create a distraction and sneak past."

Potemkin marched forward, rhythmically stepping over the broken concrete. He stopped abruptly in the center of the road. The vehicles and soldiers in front of him didn't, but they _ did _ slow.

Potemkin planted his feet firmly and said, "I'm ordering you to turn around."

It felt strange to give an order. He had never done it before. To his surprise, though, the vehicles stopped.

A small row of infantrymen were at the front of the group. They were wearing rubbery black suits that covered their entire bodies and held rifles at their sides. Potemkin recognized the type. The suits were designed to dampen kinetic force -- especially gunfire. They were rarely given to average soldiers. 

One stepped forward and spoke up, saying, "You don't have the authority to give an order."

Two others, apparently subordinates, couldn't help but gossip among themselves. "I-is that _ Potemkin?_" one quietly said to his comrade. "He's not supposed to be back in Zepp, is he? Shouldn't we report that?"

Potemkin brushed the comment aside and addressed the one closest to him. "I'm not ordering you as a soldier," he said. "My authority comes from my strength -- not my rank."

The mask covering the officer's face made it impossible to tell what he was thinking. He mulled over his options for a second before motioning to the rest of the group.

"_Open fire!_"

Reflexively, the infantry raised their weapons and shot at Potemkin. Bullet after bullet bounced off his hardened skin. Not a single shot left a mark. He stood his ground and tried not to flinch when he was nearly shot in the eye.

Though it was almost drowned out by the sound of gunfire, Potemkin's gauntlets came to life, relaying a message for all to hear. Judging by the familiar voice, the contents of the message, and the fact that he was pretty sure the soldiers' radios were also saying the same thing, it must have been the emergency communications system Gabriel had mentioned during the briefing.

_ "People of this nation, today is the end of the Imperial State of Zepp." _

As soon as that line was spoken, advances were made by the heavy weaponry. One of the tanks shot a small missile at Potemkin's face. He swatted it away with hardly a care and barely noticed it explode off the side of the road.

_ "For more than a century, Zepp has strayed from the principles that founded it. When the rest of the world discovered and embraced magic, our ancestors stood in defiance, knowing that magic could never truly replace technology. They were branded heretics and madmen. They were shunned from civilized society. It was only through a series of miracles that they were able to found this country and set it aloft. Here, they could be free to start anew where the rest of humanity had left off." _

More tanks fired at him. At this point, he didn't bother making an effort to defend himself beyond trying to keep debris from getting in his eyes. The shots were hot and made him feel uncomfortable, but they didn't leave any burns. It was hard to keep his eyes open.

_ "Today, we stand in defiance just as our ancestors once did -- not in defiance of a world that fears technology, but in defiance of an elite who have allowed much-needed technological progress to stagnate if it does not further their personal ambitions. During the twentieth century, technological advancement always coincided with the improvement of humanity's collective quality of life. And yet, despite more than a century and a half in the air and the vast improvements in many areas of technology, the common citizen of Zepp fares no better than his ancestors. In fact, he fares worse." _

Potemkin just barely managed to get a better look at his surroundings. The entire troop was advancing again, taking advantage of how distracted he was. His nose wrinkled. He couldn't let that happen. He slammed his eyes shut, pulled his fist back, and aimed it at the ground.

"_Judge Gauntlet!_"

The concrete beneath and surrounding him shattered, ruining the road. The impact was so extreme that most of the tanks were left nearly on their sides. The infantry fell flat on their faces or rears.

_ "We have allowed things that would have been considered atrocities just a century ago to become so commonplace than no man questions them. We have all toiled beneath the oppressive heel of a government that does not care about the common man under the pretense that there is nothing we as individuals can do to change the status quo. That is a lie. A country is nothing without its people, and they ultimately decide how it is run. The only reason you feel that you are powerless is because your neighbors also feel that they are powerless." _

Able to still navigate uneven ground, the mechs quickly moved to the front. They came in a variety of sizes, the smallest not much bigger than Potemkin and the largest maybe a story high. The smallest of the group came at him first with a punch. Its fist was about the same size as his, and he managed to catch it with one hand. He clamped down and felt metal fold between his fingers. Effortlessly, he hoisted it over his head and threw it at another, larger mech that was charging at him.

_ "I am Seregant Gabriel. I represent the Zeppian Armed Forces. Today, we claim control of Zepp's government, but only to give it back to y _\-- Potemkin, watch out!"

Potemkin shuddered. His gut tensed. He wondered could be so important that Gabriel had to stop his speech to warn him.

Then it hit him -- literally.

* * *

Gabriel looked out the window of the broadcast station. The mechanical monstrosity he was staring at was so big that he could see it easily from his location. He pulled the microphone to his mouth again and continued.

"Potemkin, if you can hear me, that thing is a Megadeath Mechanix!" Gabriel shouted. "It's an experimental weapon designed for combat against Gears that can level cities! You need to lure it away from the capital!"

There was one more detail that he neglected to mention. He didn't have reliable confirmation of it, but if certain rumors were true, it was also probably designed to neutralize both him and Potemkin if they ever became an issue. His own knowledge of the Mechanix was sketchy to begin with, and he wasn't aware that anything beyond an incomplete prototype had been built.

It made him anxious, enough that he wasn't sure if he could continue the speech. Potemkin's life was on the line, and if he failed to stop that thing, he knew he was its next target.

* * *

Potemkin could just barely hear Gabriel's message. He wasn't sure what exactly his face was pressed against, but it felt metallic. It was still being propelled forward, so his first thought was that it could be a missile, but that didn't seem right. He tried to get a firm grip on it and push it away, but it was difficult. His feet were planted firmly in the ground, but that wasn't enough.

He turned his cheek and looked behind himself. Whatever was hitting him was also pushing him back -- _ way _ back. He was so far off the road at this point that the labor camp mentioned during the briefing was in sight. He couldn't just let himself crash into one of the fences or buildings.

Through some miracle of necessity and adrenaline, Potemkin gained leverage and pushed back with every ounce of strength he could, redirecting the mystery object and flinging it into the sky just before he hit an electric fence. He craned his neck up and saw what it was. It was a fist. A giant, metallic fist propelled by something like a rocket at the base of its nonexistent wrist.

It turned over a few times before it suddenly swiveled to a stationary position, as if it was caught by a magnet. It was pulled by an unseen force and reattached to something's colossal arm.

It was a mech, but Potemkin had never seen a mech like this before. It was much bigger than any of the ones he knew about, deployed or otherwise. It had the same general build as most of Zepp's mechs, with a sturdy lower body, animalistic legs, and no discernable head. Two mechanical "wings" that evoked bone were attached near its shoulders, and beneath them were burning thrusters that kept it in the air. Its body was chrome white with red highlights, both painted and electrical. Potemkin stood in its shadow and had to shield his eyes from the glare as it descended. This had to be the Mechanix.

Potemkin heard a voice behind him say, "Oh my God... is that... is that _ him?_" 

He didn't want to ignore the mech, but couldn't help but turn around. Behind the fence was a small group of slaves, their shoulders bared and barcodes visible for all to see. It took him a moment to realize it, but the place looked familiar. Was this where he lived when he was younger? He would have no way of knowing if it was. He was never told his location within Zepp while he was still held in a labor camp, and they were always designed to look similar.

"Please, you need to find shelter!" Potemkin shouted at them. They looked at him like he was speaking gibberish. The thought of disobeying -- even if their lives depended on it -- was foreign. Then again, there wasn't exactly anywhere to go. The Mechanix was mobile, and he doubted whoever was piloting it cared if a few slaves died if it meant taking out their target.

Potemkin remember what Gabriel said on the emergency communications system: lure it away from the capital. He didn't know what this thing was capable of, but he had to move fast. There was an open field in front of him, and the nearest human settlement to his left had to be kilometers away. He darted in that direction, hoping that the mech would follow -- and it did.

It fired a series of missiles at him. All at once, they converged on him and hit their target. Potemkin tripped over and shouted in pain. Unlike what the tanks had thrown at him earlier, it actually hurt. The mech's thrusters came to life and closed the gap between them in seconds. While Potemkin was lying prone on the ground, it slammed its fist into him. He tried to stop its attack with his hands, but his elbows gave instantly. The ground shook as a crater formed around Potemkin. 

The Mechanix pulled its fist back, revealing a bruise on Potemkin's chest. He braced himself for another hit, but it never came. Instead, it bent down to try to pick him up, but Potemkin managed to roll out of the way of its fingers. He rolled back and grabbed one of them, holding it as tight as he could and dragging himself to his feet. The Mechanix nearly lost balance, and while it was prone, he flung it backwards into the air with as much force as he could muster. He wasted no time pursuing it and leapt into the air after it. Before it could appreciably recover, he pulled his fist back, shouted, and put everything he could into one punch.

There was a sound like an explosion had gone off -- and the mech didn't budge. Potemkin was stunned. It almost felt like time was standing still for a moment as his momentum gave and he started falling. He watched as a translucent blue forcefield around the mech dissipated. The damn thing didn't even budge.

His mind was completely blank as he fell. He couldn't even comprehend what had happened.

Potemkin couldn't see Zepp below him. If he looked behind himself, though, he could see the _ edge _ of Zepp. In front of him was a cloud. He rolled over and looked at the ground. There was a valley below, with rows of mountains on either side of a large river. Above was the mech, and Potemkin snapped back to reality when he realized it was diving after him like a bird of prey.

There wasn't much Potemkin could do to defend himself. He was completely prone while in freefall. This time, the mech succeeded in getting its fingers around him. It squeezed. It squeezed for a while, and the Mechanix didn't bother to slow its own descent. Potemkin heard something in his chest crack. Air hissed between his teeth, but he didn't shout. Adrenaline rushed through his body, numbing the pain. It wasn't enough that he could completely ignore it, but it _ was _ enough to give him a second wind. He clenched his constricted fists and forced his arms outward, pushing the mech off of him. Once its fingers were separated far enough, he snapped his arms back and slipped out of its grip to continue his descent. 

The mech gave chase again, but Potemkin hit the ground first. Normally, that wouldn't have hurt, but he fell on his chest. The pain was enough to stun him for a few seconds before he could get to his feet. The debris his impact had kicked up prevented him from seeing much, but he could hear the mech hit the ground. The way it trembled, the Mechanix was maybe a few of its steps away from him.

Stress was making it hard for Potemkin to process anything. There was too much dust in the air to breathe properly. Clutching his chest, he leaped backwards out of a shallow impact crater. The mech took a step forward. He was hyperventilating at this point and had to make a mental effort to calm himself down and take slower, heavier breaths. The crisp air and cool valley breeze took some stress off him -- enough to think clearly for a few seconds.

He couldn't believe that a mech, of any model, was able to take a punch like that from him. It reminded him of when he had fought that other mech during an aptitude test years ago -- how he smacked into a forcefield the first time he had hit it. It wasn't an exercise in futility, though. He knew from experience that forcefields could be broken if you just hit them hard enough. That had to be the solution. Just hit it harder.

Potemkin knew what he had to do. He reached around to the back of his neck and ran his fingers across his collar, looking for the button to release it. The Mechanix took a step forward. Potemkin felt the button. Just as he was about to press it, he hesitated. He thought about the fact that there was probably a soldier inside of the Mechanix. He also thought about the fact that he didn't really know his own strength anymore. It had been a very, _ very _ long time since he'd last hit something like he meant it. But he also remembered his promise to Gabriel. He gave his word that he would be willing to take a life if it meant preventing more deaths. In all likelihood, if he hesitated, this thing _ would _ end him -- and if it did that, it would probably move on to Gabriel next...

The Mechanix took another step forward. Potemkin pressed the button on his collar. He felt it detach from his skin. It fell to the ground. His gloves followed suit. The mech took a final step and loomed over him. It made a fist and pulled its arm back. Potemkin's eyes narrowed as he did the same.

He didn't have to guess what would happen next. The mech's fist shot at him. Potemkin's arm tensed as he swung at its knuckle with every ounce of energy he could muster. He remembered something Gabriel told him not long after they met. If he really wanted his punches to be effective, he had to shout -- and shout he did.

"Magnum...

"**_OPERA!_**"

Potemkin felt something like glass shatter. Metal followed suit, then the ground in front of him. Everything was blown back by a deafening shockwave. Potemkin watched the mech disintegrate, leaving only a fine powder of debris. His immediate surroundings were ripped into by the shockwave and weren't in much better shape. It traveled as far right as the mountain behind him, leaving a semicircular gash in its side, and as far left as the riverbank, creating a wave bound for the opposite bank. Rocks slid down the side of the mountain to cover its wound. The wave crashed on the other side of the river. Potemkin grinned and gave a wordless shout before collapsing to his knees. He looked down at his splayed fingers and palms as if he wasn't convinced they were real.

He did it.

He laughed. Slowly but surely, the stress and adrenaline evaporated. He was forced to remember that one of his ribs was broken. Potemkin gritted his teeth. The pain was a small price to pay.

Potemkin was only allowed a few minutes to rest. Once his time was up, he heard an electronic voice behind him. He hadn't noticed it, but his collar and gauntlets were still intact, and the gauntlets were able to relay a message.

"Potemkin, I'm getting reports of large explosions. Are you able to respond?" It was unmistakably Gabriel's voice, and Potemkin had a feeling it wasn't being relayed through the emergency communications system anymore.

"I've neutralized the Mechanix, sir," Potemkin answered.

There was a noise on Gabriel's end of the line that sounded like he was trying to say something, but it wasn't coherent.

Potemkin looked at the sky, noting the position of the sun and Zepp's shadow. "I'm on the ground off Zepp's starboard," he said. "There's a mountain with a hole in its side northeast of my current position. I've sustained moderate injury."

"Noted," Gabriel replied. "Things are proceeding well back in Zepp, but it may be a while before things have died down enough to retrieve you. Try not to do anything that could make your wounds worse until then."

"Understood."

Potemkin let himself fall on his back, making a small depression in the grass. He looked up at the sky and watched the cloud he'd seen earlier pass over him. Zepp was across from it, moving parallel to it. He felt a cool breeze from the river sweep across his bare neck.

So this was what freedom felt like...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See [my Tumblr](https://junk-artist.tumblr.com/post/613665243956117504/in-slaves-glory-chapter-13-junkartist) for notes.


	14. By Your Side

_ March 11, 2081 _

A massive man clad in a green uniform walked down a tunnel leading out of one of Zepp's subways. Each of his steps had so much weight behind them that the floor seemed to shake. The long ponytail he once wore was cut into a short bun now, giving an aura of professionalism. Even though the suit had been tailored specifically to fit him, it still looked and felt and tight, outlining his musculature beneath it. It felt fine when he put it on the first time for a public appearance, but he'd gotten bigger since then.

It was something Potemkin noticed more than a year ago, but he'd initially dismissed it as paranoia. He wasn't a slave anymore, though, and he had the freedom to request his own medical records if he needed them (even though they were considered classified documents). As it turned out, he wasn't insane -- he was still growing. It wasn't just his muscles either. He was taller too. 

It disturbed him initially, and he was asked if he wanted to try any sort of medical treatment to suppress it. He considered it, but ultimately declined thinking back to what would have happened if he had gotten any sort of treatment when he was younger. It wasn't worth it. The rate wasn't exactly alarming and he worried any sort of interference would just make things worse. If he was stuck growing longer than he was supposed to, it probably wasn't much of a concern. He didn't have any health problems from his condition, and apparently, it was normal for this to happen in some animals. Obviously it wasn't for people, but then again, did people ever _ really _ stop growing?

A lot of things had changed since the coup. Culturally, Zepp was still Zepp, and the government mostly clung to its militant, isolationist philosophies, but slavery was abolished within two months of the change of leadership along with forced conscription. Potemkin wasn't under any obligation to remain a soldier. Gabriel told him he was free to do whatever he wanted with his life. He was surprised when Potemkin said he wanted to stay in military service. Part of it was because he didn't really know what else he could do with his life, but more than that, he wanted to serve his country of his own volition. If there was a way he could help dig it out of the rut it had been stuck in, he was going to take that path.

Potemkin was a lot more active as a soldier than he was before the coup and no longer treated as a human-shaped weapon of mass destruction. He was trusted enough to work in special operations, and carried out most of his missions alone. Today he got an odd job. He was supposed to meet a foreign diplomat and escort him to a private meeting.

He took the hallway down to one of Zepp's outer docks. Foreigners were always supposed to enter the country from one of its sides rather than fly in from above, since that present a security risk. He hadn't been told in advance who it was he was supposed to rendezvou with, just the destination. Once he arrived, Potemkin was surprised by the diplomat's identity -- and the diplomat was equally as surprised to see him.

"P-_ Potemkin!? _"

Ky Kiske couldn't believe his eyes. The man in front of him didn't look how he would have expected Potemkin to, but it wasn't possible for it to be anyone else. Even if there was someone else in the world with a similar appearance, he could tell from the look on Potemkin's face and the emotions in his eyes that it was the same man he'd first met at the Sacred Order Selection Tournament.

Potemkin stood up straight and twisted his face into a neutral expression. He was friends with Ky, but this was his job and he couldn't let emotional ties get in the way of formality.

"Ky Kiske, welcome to Zepp," Potemkin said, bowing slightly.

"Th-thank you," Ky stuttered. Potemkin's behavior wasn't what he had expected and he was taken aback by it. He decided to change the subject. 

"Excuse me for asking, but if you have time... what happened to you?" Ky asked.

"A lot," Potemkin answered. 

He guessed the same was true for Ky. Like Potemkin, his attire had changed. He was in an Interpol uniform, clad in white with a black cross through the middle. A black mantle with yellow highlights wrapped all the way around his shoulders. The organization's symbol was stamped in red into the mantle's high collar. But beyond that, there was something different about his eyes. They were still both cold and hopeful, but they seemed to wander more, almost as if he was lost.

"I think it would be better if we discussed things in transit. Please, follow me," Potemkin said. If he could, he would have spent all the time in the world talking to Ky, but unfortunately, it wasn't something he was afforded today.

"Understandable," Ky said. It was hard for him to hold his tongue, but he managed until they got on the subway. The car was unusually spacious and had no other occupants. A look out the window showed the near-monochrome interior of Zepp's lower deck, alive with machinery he couldn't even guess the purpose of.

Ky sat across from Potemkin. He felt small. Despite the car's size, Potemkin's head was dangerously close to the ceiling, even while sitting down. It took him a moment for Ky to figure out how to break the ice. It wasn't the most appropriate question to ask, but it had been on his mind since he stepped onto Zepp.

"I don't want this to sound rude, but don't slaves in Zepp have to keep their shoulders exposed?" Ky asked. "And what about your collar?"

"I still have to wear the collar when I'm in the field to prevent collateral damage, but I'm not a slave anymore," Potemkin answered. He _ hated _ wearing the collar, but understood why it was necessary. Zepp's military research and development was going through a lot of changes due to concerns about unethical experimentation, so it was taking a while for him to get a suitable replacement.

Ky looked surprised, but he had halfway expected that answer. He needed an explanation, though, and asked, "How did that happen?"

"After the Sacred Order Selection Tournament, there was a military coup in Zepp," Potemkin said. "The old government was overthrown and a lot of things were restructured or are in the process of being restructured. I'm not enslaved anymore, and neither is anyone else."

"I see," Ky said. His eyes lost focus on Potemkin and drifted back in time. It had been almost a year, but he couldn't forget that tournament. He couldn't forget what Justice had told him that day.

"Potemkin, I'm sorry to say this out of nowhere, but I have a strange question for you," Ky said.

"Yes?"

"Do you think Gears are evil?"

Potemkin was shuddered at Ky's words. It was completely out of left field, and he wondered what compelled Ky to ask it. It was something he had never really thought about either, or at least, he had never thought about it in those terms. The one Gear he had encountered before was a beast. Biologically, it had probably been human at some point, but it wasn't acting in a way any rational human would have. If nothing else, he felt completely confident in declaring its actions evil. 

Potemkin answered, "Why wouldn't they be?"

"I just... I had this thought. After I fought Justice," Ky said. Ky looked at the floor as Potemkin's attention piqued. "I've been fighting Gears since I was a boy, but I never stopped to think that they don't really have control over themselves. They're just doing what people created them to do. Can their actions truly be sinful if they don't have a choice?"

Potemkin recognized the religious weight in Ky Kiske's choice of words. He wasn't sure how to address it. As a nation, Zepp was almost entirely secular, and faith in a higher power was taboo. He only knew about people's belief in God second hand from his education. It seemed strange to him, but apparently, the outside world took it _ very _ seriously, and it was easy to be disrespectful when dealing with faith. He decided to choose his words carefully and tried to sidestep the question of sin.

"I don't really understand what you mean," Potemkin said. "They try to kill innocent people, though. How wouldn't they be evil?"

Ky took a moment to think on that before he said, "Justice spoke to me before she died. She said she attacked humanity because she was afraid of us lashing out and trying to kill her. She was born a slave and raised to be a weapon, so she didn't know how else to respond. I couldn't get it out of my head for weeks. I kept thinking about you and how you were enslaved and forced to fight against your will. If you had killed me or anyone else at that tournament in the line of duty, would your actions have been evil?"

Potemkin opened his mouth with the intention of saying something, then closed it. He frowned, then finally spoke, saying, "Ky, with all due respect to you and your beliefs, there's a huge difference between a soldier killing a man in the line of duty and a Gear carrying out human genocide. If I had turned on Zepp and tried to kill everyone in the country instead, I would be evil. I don't see how Justice's actions could be compared to anything less."

"...You have a good point," Ky said, looking up at Potemkin. It was enough to assuage his conscience for a moment, but only for a moment. "But... you're human. God gave you free will, so you can choose between doing something right or wrong. Gears don't have free will."

"Justice had free will, didn't she?" Potemkin said. Again, it was something he didn't know from experience, just lessons on history. Over a century ago, Justice had proclaimed she was self-aware at the start of the Crusades. "She made a decision to wage war against humanity. Maybe other Gears didn't, but I don't see how she isn't guilty for her own actions."

Ky was silent, and returned his eyes to the ground. The train slowed down.

"Can I ask you something personal?" Ky said.

Potemkin twitched, but said, "You can ask."

"While you were a slave, were you ever tempted to lash out?"

Potemkin slowly shook his head and said, "No. There were a lot of times I was tempted to _ run _, but I would never take someone's life if it wasn't in the line of duty."

"I see," Ky said with a sigh. Tension seeped out of his body. The train stopped and the door to the car opened. He felt like he had answers now, or at least something resembling them. Still, the steps he took out of the car were shaky. Potemkin followed behind him with much more confidence.

"Maybe you're right," Ky said, turning his head around to look at Potemkin. "I guess Justice_ was _ guilty of sin."

Still, he couldn't quite shake the lingering questions out of his head. If that was true, then if another Gear had free will, they wouldn't _ have _ to be evil. It begged the question of what made Justice so different from humans.

Potemkin got in front of Ky and led the way through a series of long hallways, eventually arriving at a sliding pair of double doors. A sensor next to it detected Potemkin and the doors slid open. 

Gabriel sat at the center of a conference room. No one else was present. His elbows were on the table and his fingers folded into one another, resting just below his chin. He perked up when he saw Potemkin.

"Mr. President, this is Ky Kiske, head of the International Police Force," Potemkin said, gesturing toward Ky.

"It's my honor, sir," Ky said with a bow.

Ky wasn't totally sure what to make of the situation, but he decided it was best to be respectful. Zepp was incredibly isolated, and between that and the fact that it was so small and close-knit, espionage was a fool's errand. Not much information came out of the country, and it was news to him that it had a president rather a chancellor. He mused for a moment about the military coup that Potemkin had mentioned, and given that and the president's choice of attire (a blue uniform, unmistakably that of a soldier), he wasn't sure if he was in the presence of an elected official or a dictator.

He silenced his thoughts, though. Zepp was abolishing human rights violations, so whatever the situation was, he knew it couldn't be _ all _ bad.

"Ky Kiske, my name is Gabriel. I am Zepp's commander-in-chief. It's an honor to meet you." Gabriel unclasped his hands and motioned toward a chair across from him. "Please, have a seat."

Potemkin stood motionless, not sure whether or not he should leave. Gabriel turned his head toward him and said, "Potemkin, it would be best if you joined us."

"Understood," Potemkin answered. He stepped inside and the doors closed behind him. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of machinery you could always hear this far below Zepp's surface. Ky sat down. Potemkin stood behind Gabriel, deciding not to take a seat for fear of it getting crushed under his weight.

"Mr. President," Ky said, "I'm here investigating the background of a man named Leon Mining."

Gabriel perked up at the statement. Potemkin had no idea who he was talking about.

"He's currently the head of the Post-War Administration Bureau," Ky continued. "However, I believe he may have ties to Zepp. Someone at Interpol tried to purge records of him being involved in illegal arms trade -- with blacktech, to be specific."

Potemkin twitched. You didn't hear the word "blacktech" very often in Zepp, but it was a term foreigners used to refer to Zepp's old world style technology. A lot of things that were normal and commonplace within its borders, from circuit boards to guns, were illegal everywhere else in the world.

"So you think that he's acting for Zepp because he sold blacktech weapons?" Gabriel asked.

"I don't know what to think, and I'm not going to make assumptions," Ky said. "All I know is that it's possible there's a connection."

"You're wise for someone so young," Gabriel said. "It's true that Leon Mining was working for Zepp at one point. He was running experiments funded by Zepp's old government -- experiments that are now illegal."

"Can you share any details about the experiments he was performing?" Ky asked.

"I'm afraid I can't. That's classified information," Gabriel said. "Even so, you have my word that he is no longer affiliated with Zepp in any way, shape, or form. He hasn't been within the country's borders since the change of government, and I intend to keep it that way."

"I understand," Ky said. "Is there any information about Mining that you _ can _ share with the IPF?"

"It may take some time, but if you're trying to bring him to justice, I'm willing to share whatever intelligence I can on him, provided the information has no risk of jeopardizing Zepp's national security."

* * *

Several hours later, it was Potemkin's job to take Ky back to the dock. They weren't in a rush, and walked slowly when they got off the train.

"There's been something on my mind," Ky said to Potemkin.

"Yes?" Potemkin asked. He hoped it wasn't more about Gears.

"Do you know President Gabriel personally?"

Potemkin nodded. "He was my combat instructor and superior officer while I was a slave, but also a lot more than that."

"What do you mean?"

"He's always been there for me when I had nothing and no one else. I wouldn't be the man I am today without him."

"So what you're saying is that you owe your current position to nepotism?" Ky said with a smile.

"I-it's not like that!" Potemkin said.

Ky laughed. "I'm not sure it would matter much if it was," he said. "I got the impression that things are being managed pretty well for a country that just established a new government. If promoting you is the extent of Zepp's corruption, I'd say it's doing more good than harm."

Potemkin smiled and scratched the back of his neck. Ky smiled too, this time with much more sincerity. Seeing other people smile always made him happy, and doubly so for Potemkin, considering what his mental state had been like when they first met each other.

"He's really something," Ky said. "Gabriel, I mean. Maybe it's partly just him trying to keep calm and maintain a sense of authority, but I got the impression that he genuinely has things under control here."

Ky sighed. "I wish I was more like him. I'm always close to pulling my hair out over the IPF, but he can run a whole country with confidence. Between the cover ups and general abuse of power, I've been at my wit's end. Things felt so much simpler during the Crusades. I always had this sense that I was doing the right thing, but now that it's over, I feel like I'm constantly second guessing myself. I'm asking questions I never would have even entertained a year ago, like 'are Gears _ really _ evil?' And here I am, spouting all of this to a foreign dignitary because I can't just say it to anyone back home...

"I think all of the stress is getting to my head. I never thought I would say this either, but... you know, it was nice spending a day in Zepp. I expected a lot of stress from this outing, but I actually feel refreshed."

"I'm glad for that," Potemkin said. He felt surprisingly relaxed around Ky, enough to open up even though they hadn't known each other very long. "I can't say I've been having a worse time than usual, but a lot has changed for me too. I never had a purpose or a goal when I was a slave. I was just told to go somewhere and do something and I did. My whole life has been like that. It feels strange to be free and not have people breathing down my neck constantly. It's even stranger that a lot of people aren't afraid of me and think I'm a hero, all because of one day. But now I have a purpose that no one else is telling me I need to fulfill. I want to serve my country so I can help make it a better place to live."

"I was surprised to hear a slave spouting patriotism when we first met, but I think it makes sense to me now," Ky said. "Zepp is lucky to have someone like you."

At this point, they had reached the dock. Ky's airship had let a set of steps down. He walked forward, but turned around to face Potemkin before leaving.

"I guess this is goodbye for now, but I'm sure we'll meet each other again someday," Ky said.

"It's been a pleasure," Potemkin said.

Ky extended his hand for Potemkin to shake. He was taken aback by the gesture, but quickly regained composure. He didn't have anything restricting his strength, but this _ was _ Ky Kiske. He reached out and took Ky's hand by the wrist.

Ky grinned to hide the pain. Potemkin's grip was something else -- and somehow, he sensed there was still room for improvement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a moment to thank everyone who's been reading this story. This is my first venture into posting fanfiction, and it's been really heartwarming for me to get such a positive response to this. I'm sorry for not always responding to comments. I've been busy and had computer troubles, but I dedicated myself to sticking to the update schedule I promised. Unfortunately, I probably won't be contributing much else to Guilty Gear at any point in the near future and don't have any plans for long stories based on it again, but again, thank you all for reading.
> 
> Previous chapters have been updated with notes. Full notes on [my Tumblr](https://junk-artist.tumblr.com/post/613665337724059648/in-slaves-glory-chapter-14-junkartist).


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